


Lunch Buddy

by relic_amaranth



Series: Full Course [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bisexual OFC, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Coming Out, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Pining, Reader-Insert, Romance, Slice of Life, Team as Family, Texting, Troll Steve Rogers, bisexual reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2020-02-29 08:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 68,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18774976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relic_amaranth/pseuds/relic_amaranth
Summary: Steve Rogers makes a friend.A prickly, generally people-averse friend, but they'll both take what they can get.





	1. Oblivious

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is...weird. But I'm posting it, because I've been writing bits and pieces for this thing for over a year now and I keep chickening out of posting it. So I'm doing it!
> 
> First off, a few general warnings: this (to me) still counts as reader-insert since I haven't ascribed a detailed physical look or name to the POV character but I do know some extra things about her. Those being: female, bisexual, plus-sized, asocial. That's it for actual set details and I mention them because they will come up in the story. Also, this is written in first-person past tense. I'm sorry if any of that bugs anybody (I know some people are very 1st person averse) but it's just the way I wanted to write it. I can't honestly say it's self-insert but I can (and should) say it's pretty self-indulgent.
> 
> Secondly, more rambling author's note: this is a 'slice of life' type thing that I write bits and bobs for on occasion. Since I've been adding to it for over a year I have kind of a meandering story and a lot of little pieces that add up to something I enjoy. I'm just trying to finish this first arc so I'll just say for the time being it is Reader(or OFC) & Steve friendship but it's eventually going to be Steve/Reader (or OFC) and we'll see how it goes from there. I aim to update every other week but, again, this is the one thing I have that is for pure relaxing so we shall see. If you enjoy it, great, if not, that's cool too.
> 
> Thirdly: This is after the first Avengers movie but I have already altered parts of CA:TWS to fit in with what I'm doing. I'll explain it as I go, just keep an open mind.
> 
> Stupidly: I have a thing for Oblivious!Reader. It never fails to amuse me to think of different ways for a character to go 'wait, *that* guy?!' Idk why, but sorry not sorry.

 

I had a routine.

I actually had several, but one of my most sacred involved my lunch break. After half a day of staring at papers and screens, I took an hour to fortify myself for another half day of staring at papers and screens. By…staring at paper and screens. But this was by my choice, at least, and done in a nice, airy café, with a good drink (and sometimes snack) nearby.

I’d been coming to the same shop for almost two years, ever since I got my job just a block or so over, and I rarely missed visiting it on a weekday. Even a fucking alien invasion didn’t chase me off for long– people still had to eat and businesses still had to run. As soon as the infrastructure was back to (mostly) functioning, I was back to doing what I did in every way.

I had noticed when some of the other regulars stopped coming around (I really hoped they had just decided to go somewhere else and that they hadn’t gotten caught up in that nightmare) and I also started to notice some new regulars. One of them was a jerk and I only noticed her as much as it took to avoid her. There were a few people who just came in to get drinks and left right away. Then there was one guy who ended up causing a bit of a stir.

I really only noticed him the first time because he was attractive enough to literally turn heads. Even some of the guys I had assumed were straight took a peek and whispered to themselves. And he wasn’t unaware– his cheeks flushed and he ducked his head and I was pretty sure three people fell in love with him on the spot.

It was funny, but aside from noticing he was attractive and was very nice to the cashiers, I went back to ignoring him. I only had so long in a lunch break and I wasn’t the type to introduce myself to strangers, no matter how cute they were.

So, we simply existed in the same general space at the same general time for a couple of months. He became a regular and also found ways to disguise himself– hats and glasses, and jackets with the lapels turned up. It was funny to me because it seemed like such a movie star thing to do, but even funnier was that, when he remembered to do it, it worked. He drew eyes from strangers less and less the more he figured out how to hide himself, and the other regulars got used to him being around. Just from basic interactions I knew his name was Steve, he tipped well, he was always very polite to the people working, and he liked to sit down with a sketchbook and a cup of coffee. That was about all the ‘interaction’ we had and it was fine.

Until one day.

My headphones were in and I didn’t notice him standing nearby until he leaned closer. I yanked out one of the earbuds and straightened up to see what it was he wanted. He went from concerned to contrite in what could have been a new record. “Oh I’m sorry; I didn’t see–”

“It’s okay,” I said and pulled out the other one so I could give him my full attention. “What do you need?” I surreptitiously checked myself to make sure he wasn’t coming over to tell me about an unfortunate wardrobe malfunction.

“I was just wondering…” He extended an arm to the ( _very full_ , I just realized) shop. “There’s nowhere else to sit and your table is so large, could I sit here? I promise I’ll be quiet.”

“It’s not like I’d hear you anyway,” I said and he smiled. I quickly pulled my bag off the chair next to him and pushed it out.

“Thank you,” he said, I nodded, and we went back to our solitary activities.

After that, though, if he ever saw me in the shop he would give me a friendly nod or say hi if I didn’t have any headphones in. I responded in kind, but we otherwise left each other alone. Except that busy periods hit and, given that one interaction, I seemed to be his go-to. We left each other alone and he seemed just as fine with that as I felt about it. It was nice– technically could it count as socializing? It sort of felt like it, but it was my favorite kind of socializing: respecting each others’ boundaries.

AKA: Leaving each other the fuck alone.

It was great.

Except he eventually started to get a little more friendly; subtly, and slowly. Like the day he asked for my name.

“I just feel like I should know who I’m apologizing to every time I take over your space,” he said.

“You’re a big guy, but you’re not _that_ big,” I said. But I told him my name. Then, weirdly, he just…went back to his sketchbook.

I stared at him for a second. “Sorry,” I said. “I don’t really do this ‘meeting people’ thing that often, but don’t you normally give your name when someone else gives you theirs?”

He blinked and stared at me. “You don’t–” He stopped himself. “I didn’t tell you?”

“No,” I said. “I’d remember if you told me. And I’d remember if you told me and I forgot, because I would never, ever bring up your name or anyone else’s name ever again.”

He laughed, and looked startled by it. I was a little startled too, but he recovered pretty quick. “How do I know you’re not just covering for the fact that you forgot?” he teased.

“I am excellent at remembering when I should know someone’s name and deftly avoiding any chance at using it,” I said.

He chuckled, but he did say, “It’s Steve. Steve Rogers.”

I wrote ‘Steve’ in the front cover of my notebook, and expected to forget all about it.

 

I didn’t. Steve was friendly in an unobtrusive way. His greetings were warm and genuine and he was honestly pleasant to be around. I knew nothing of him but his name, that he liked to draw, and that people liked to gawk at him.

“Looks like you’ve made a friend,” one of the employees commented as she cleaned a nearby table.

“Uh…I guess so?” I pulled out a headphone just in case and sure enough, she stood and faced me and looked me up and down.

“How is he?” she asked.

I flinched, because seriously, what the fuck? “Um, he’s just some guy I sometimes share a table with. I don’t– I’m not– I don’t ever see him outside of here.”

“Oh I know; I didn’t mean it like that,” she said and grimaced. “And I didn’t mean _that_ like– I just mean…is he nice?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t sit anywhere near him if he wasn’t,” I said. “I have no patience for douchebags.”

She smiled. “Nobody should,” she agreed. “Just, a guy like him…you sort of hope he’s nice, you know?”

“I…guess,” I said. I didn’t really know what to say to that. “I’m definitely not into him, if that’s what you were worried about?” She stared at me blankly so I tried to figure out a non-awkward way to say ‘fucking go for it.’ “He’s a nice guy and you seem nice, so don’t worry about me, just ask him. Even if he’s not into you he’s the sort of guy who wouldn’t be a dick about it.”

“Oh. Oh, no!” She laughed and waved. “I have a boyfriend, so I’m not– no, but, uh, thanks.”

“Oh.” Then why was she so– well, maybe she just liked seeing a pretty guy like that also be a good guy. God only knew the world needed more men who weren't jerks. I didn’t get to find out though, because she got called away by her co-worker and I went back to my notebook and my headphones. Why was everyone suddenly so _social_?

 

“What are you listening to?”

I shrugged. “Just my library on shuffle; nothing really cohesive.”

He chuckled and went back to doing what he did. Today it was fitting in stealing bites of his two strawberry croissants while he sketched.

It was a little strange for me, but I was getting used to Steve asking questions out of the blue. He was a nice guy and I didn’t want to be a jerk, that was part of it, but he also seemed to know when it was okay to talk to me and how far he could go. If I ever really didn’t want human interaction he somehow clued into it and would sit quietly. If I was open to it, he kept the conversations light and just something we both did in the background. Several weeks into this strange lunchtime camaraderie I accepted that some days he was there, some days he wasn’t, but it was just a nice easy thing we both slipped in and out of as time went on.

I was realizing I never really asked a lot of questions though. I cleared my throat. “Do you work around here?” I asked.

“No,” he said, smiling at his drawing as he worked on it. “I work…well, I’m sort of ‘on call’ I guess you could say,” he said. “My schedule is really irregular. I like to come here just to get out of my apartment from time to time.”

“That sounds nice,” I said.

“And you?” he asked.

“Yeah, I work in the area,” I said. “I like to get away from my desk and out of the office for at least a little bit. So I come here and just relax for an hour before I finish out the day.”

“That sounds healthy,” he commented. Before I could figure out if he was being sarcastic, he snapped his head up and waved his hand. “I didn’t mean– shit; I’m sorry,” he said and put his pen down. “That sounded bad. I meant it sincerely though. I have a lot of friends who are…workaholics, I guess you’d say.”

“Yeah, I do my fair share of overtime, but I definitely prefer not to,” I said. I thought about asking him what he did, but then he’d probably ask what I did, and I didn’t want to talk about it. It was fine– paid the bills and that was always a good thing, I just hated watching people feel like they had to feign interest in my bullshit. So we settled back into silence. And it was good.

 

“Um…excuse me?”

I looked up and so did Steve. The kid was looking right at him though, and I went back to looking at my book. I did keep an ear open, though, because I was nosy. Steve asked the kid’s name and I heard nothing, but when I glanced, Steve was scribbling something on a piece of paper.

 _His_ name.

I squinted, because he was signing an autograph, _really_?

Suddenly the woman’s comments, about hoping that ‘a guy like him’ was nice, made a _lot_ more sense. Also the ‘movie star disguise’ thing. Was he actually a movie star? He hung out here _way_ too much for that to be true, but I was baffled. Steve went back to his sketchbook like nothing was wrong or weird and I tried to figure out how to Google a tall blond buff guy named ‘Steve’ while somehow not getting stuck with a bunch of porn. Ugh; what was his last name again…

“You know you can just ask me.”

I looked up from my fruitless search. He smiled patiently, but he looked…tired.

Well then.

“Where’s the fun in that?” I asked, but I didn’t have all day. When I looked at my phone again, I realized I barely had five minutes. “We’ll see how many lunch breaks it takes me to figure it out.”

He let out a surprised little laugh, and then he smiled for real. “How many do you think it’ll take?”

“Hmm.” I tapped my chin. “If it takes more than three, I’ll buy your coffee.”

“If it takes less, I’ll buy yours,” he said, we shook on it, and I packed up to leave.

“By the way– this one doesn’t count,” I said and skipped out to his protests.

 

There were a _lot_ of blond buff guys who did porn.

So I maybe got a little distracted.

“Jesus.”

I leaned my head back and shut off the screen at the same time. “You’re blond and your name is Steve; I don’t have a whole lot to go on. Also, he had most of his clothes on.”

“He wasn’t going to,” Steve chuckled and sat back in his seat. “Should I try a latte? I also heard mochas were good.”

“If you really wanted to take advantage you’d go for the frozen drinks.”

He made a face like a five-year-old. It was so ridiculous I had to laugh. “I’m not sure about cold coffee,” he said.

“Ah, not even iced coffee?” I waved my sadly-not-iced drink around and took a long sip. “You’re missing out.”

“I’ll just take your word for it.” He glanced at the menu, and then back at me. “Next time then?”

I stared him down. “This is only lunch break number one.”

“Two.”

“ _One_.”

He was grinning and I stuck my tongue out at him. “I’m gonna add ‘stubborn brat’ to my search parameters,” I said. And I did. He laughed at me.

 

There was only so much internet searching I could do before I got a little bored.

“Do you want to just give up now?”

“Never,” I said and swiped at my game. “I just need a little downtime. This _is_ my lunch break after all; I’d rather have fun and relax before getting back to work.” I cleared the stage and looked up at him. “I’ll figure it out next time.”

“You are so strange,” he said, somehow sounding like he was laughing without actually laughing.

Search: “steve” “blond” “famous” “-porn” “douchebag”

“ _Hey_.”

 

I didn’t get the full lunch break to try to figure it out one last time.

“Oh my god is that _Captain America_?”

I perked up and saw a flabbergasted gaggle of teenagers looking right at…Steve.

Steve.

Steve…

Steve _Rogers_.

Oh.

Holy shit.

He kept at his sketchbook, as he usually did, and I sat there and digested that information. The teenagers were too shy to approach (and as friendly as Steve was whenever people did come up to him, he never really encouraged that behavior) and so I got to sit quietly and take that in.

“Well?” he asked and looked up. At me. Like he was awaiting my judgment or something.

“Uhhh…” Whatever I thought I was going to say fled my brain and I was left with nothing. I scrambled for something. “Um…thank you for your service?” I said, eventually. He blinked and I let out a sigh. Why did I ever open my mouth nothing good ever happened. “Help me out, what do people normally say?”

He stared for a second longer and then he laughed. And laughed. And laughed. Once he settled down his eyes were bright with humor and it didn’t feel like he was being mean. It took me a little bit to realize he sounded _relieved_. And, like that, I felt a little more relaxed. Enough to go completely deadpan when I said, “Wow. So ungrateful.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He grinned like a total jerk. “ _Thanks_.”

Yep, total jerk.

No wonder we got along.


	2. Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve’s new acquaintance gets him to try something different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love vignettes and if that wasn't apparent before, it will become so in this chapter. Also author bias pokes out a little bit; Spotify is the only streaming service I have any familiarity with so that’s what I’m using. I’ve excised most of my musical preferences in this story (it used to make up a fairly big chunk) but my frame of reference will pop up from time to time, as these things tend to do.

 

 

 

Steve Rogers was _boring_. 

“Okay, _no_.”

He leaned his head to one side. “It’s just a coffee.”

I hadn’t meant to actually blurt that out, but fuck it; I was rolling with it now. “I just mean– you _always_ pick that. Why not try something new?”

“I don’t want to try something new. I want that,” he said and looked at me with a raised eyebrow, like he was _scolding_ me? Fuck that. “You said you’d buy my coffee. That’s my coffee.”

“Come on, I’m paying. This is the point where you pick something you thought about getting but didn’t want to spend your money on.”

“What happens if I don’t like it?”

“Throw it out.”

He made a face. “That’s wasteful.”

Maybe so, but he didn’t want a _little_ change? His face said ‘no’ though so I rolled my eyes and got up. “All right; I’ll buy your boring coffee.”

“You don’t know _exactly_ what I get,” Steve said, craning his neck as I walked away.

“You order the same fucking thing every time. _They_ sure as hell know your order.”

Of course they knew exactly how much cream or sugar he did (mostly did not) want. So I got his drink, and then I got a little something different for myself, with a tiny empty cup on the side. I came back and plopped my stuff down before I could spill, but I handed him his drink properly. “I have to admit, I was a little relieved about the flavoring; I didn’t know you had it in you.”

He stopped _just_ before he could take a drink. “I don’t–…wait.”

I tried to contain my laughter. It shook my body and he gave me a hard look. “Sorry, sorry!” I said and started pouring out a little of my drink into the cup. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“That’s cold,” he said.

“No. This is cold,” I said and gave him his little sample. “Here. It’s something I ordered and it’s just a little bit– enough to taste, not enough to waste.”

“You’re a poet and you didn’t know it,” he quipped as he held the cup.

“I absolutely knew it,” I said, which got him to smile. The drink sample itself was already on very shaky ground by the way he regarded it. He looked hesitant but he sniffed it, very slowly took a sip, and…put it down with a weird look on his face. “That’s okay,” I said and leaned back to toss it before he could worry about it.

“It wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be,” he said and took what I assumed was a palate-cleansing sip of his own drink.

“A ringing endorsement,” I said and unwrapped my headphones. I didn’t take it as a loss– there were a lot of good things on that menu board. I’d get him. Eventually.

 

He didn’t show up for a few days. When he came back, he was coming in just as I was leaving and all we did was say “Hi” in passing. I felt a little…not bad, but disappointed. Oddly enough. We didn’t talk all the time, but he was pleasant company to have. He was actually perfect for my not-super-social tastes. It was nice to have someone who I could just sit quietly with.

One day, he was already there with his usual. I picked out something different but warm, and sort of closer to coffee. Might as well ease him into it.

“That’s pretty good,” he admitted and put down the empty tester cup.

“Good,” I said and made a mental note of it.

“Good?” he asked, like he was suspicious.

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Um…yeah,” I said. “What? I’m not trying to horrify you.”

He lifted one hand and shoulder, like ‘okay.’ “I’m used to people trying to shock me with things.”

“I’m not out to antagonize people. Generally,” I said. “If we’re friends, then yes, that’s completely reasonable. But I just barely met you, so you don’t have to worry. Yet.”

“Yet,” he repeated, his smile leaning to one side.

It was my turn to shrug. “You never know.”

 

Despite the random admirers, Steve was mostly left alone. There was a good handful of regulars and apparently most people wanted so badly to play into the ‘cool, unaffected by anything’ New York image that they’d rather stare longingly at Captain America than approach him. Some did, of course, but I was a bit surprised at how few those were.

“Do you need something?” Steve asked, and I suddenly realized I was staring in his general vicinity.

“Oh, no, sorry,” I said and rested my head on my hand, and fixed my gaze elsewhere. “I’m just staring off into space; don’t mind me.”

His smile looked a little strange, like he kind of wanted to ask why I was so weird. Or maybe I was just projecting. If only he knew that was only barely the tip of the iceberg. He didn’t get the chance to speak though– he suddenly sat a little stiffer and I barely realized why when a couple of young women approached him from behind. I put my head down to my book. How did he _do_ that?

I thought I might ask him, as a conversation piece, but those girls kept talking…and talking…and talking. What they talked about I couldn’t say; it was mostly them fangirling but in a way that made me want to grit my teeth. Steve too, apparently, by how tight that smile was, and how hard he gripped that sketchbook. He hadn’t seemed so badly affected by that girl who had stammered at him for ten minutes, so they must not have been saying anything good. It seemed wrong to just sit back, but…

I had an idea, but I didn’t know if I should step in. I didn’t want to– this had the chance to be humiliating, if Steve didn’t play along. However, I thought he might, just out of politeness? Either way I decided, fuck it, I was going for it. I cleared my throat, but it was only enough to get Steve’s eyes to flick at me. I cleared it louder, and actually got his full attention, which (eventually) got the gaggle to shut up.

I smiled at Steve. “Uh, I found that song I was talking about, but you’ll have to listen to it now. I gotta get back to work soon.”

Steve practically slouched with relief; it was ridiculous that the impromptu fan club didn’t see it for what it was. I did get some dirty looks though, and they only intensified when Steve politely thanked them and sent them on their way. I wiped one of the earbuds and handed it to him, and randomly picked a song I thought he might like.

“It’s a little different from what you might be used to,” I murmured into his free ear. “But it’s pretty chill. A couple songs, okay?”

The look he gave me said ‘thank you’ better than words could. I sat back, navigating the minefield of my music, until I had to go. Apparently done with people, Steve packed up when I did, and we parted ways at the door.

 

“I try not to be…like that too much, you know?”

I looked up at Steve and could not, for the life of me, figure out how we got from “hi” and “hey” and a half hour of utter silence to _that_. “Uh…what?” I asked.

“Sorry,” he said and looked askance for a moment. “Those girls yesterday. I feel bad for brushing them off– they weren't _that_ rude– I just…didn’t feel like talking much.”

“Oh. Yeah, I get that,” I said and looked back at my book.

“You get that particularly right now?” he asked, but he sounded amused.

“This is the age of multitasking. Get used to it,” I said but I put in my bookmark and shut it. I was close to having to leave anyway; starting a new chapter now would be a bad idea. “I was worried that would be overstepping. So I’m glad it worked out.”

“It wasn’t. I really appreciated it,” he said with a smile that showed it. “I actually liked the songs.”

The way he said it was…well, not intentionally insulting, so I went with it. “Why so surprised?”

“I don’t like a lot of music these days.” He shifted and then shrugged. “Maybe I’m just not used to it.”

That could have been it. Or. “Who’s been exposing you to music?”

“Tony,” he said. “Oh, right– Tony, my friend, is actually Tony S–”

“Tony Stark, yeah, I got that,” I said and he laughed. I rolled my eyes. “Smartass. See if I teach you to appreciate modern music.”

“I’ve been told I’m hopeless,” he said.

“I doubt you actually are, if your music timeline jumps from Bing Crosby to ACDC.” I scoffed at the thought. “That’s like going from Baroque to Blues.” Well. “Okay, maybe not, but hopefully you get the idea.”

Steve stared at me. “You know Bing Crosby?”

He sounded so hopeful, I couldn’t help but rope myself in. “Do you have any music streaming service? Like Spotify or something?”

“I probably could ask Pepper,” he said.

“Cool. Ask them to hook you up.” I scooted over to him. “Here; check this out.” I showed him the basics of Spotify, using Bing Crosby as an example. “The algorithm for some of the playlists can be a little… _odd_. Just zero in on what you like for now and I’ll figure out some playlists to make you when I have more time.” Speaking of which– I glanced at the clock, cursed, and started packing up. “I gotta go; I’ll see you later.”

“Have a nice day at work,” he said, overly cheerful. I flipped him off and he just laughed.


	3. Eating Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can’t claim to be friendly with someone until you start tormenting them. Unfortunately (for some people) Steve’s better at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, did you guys know Frappuccino is a trademarked term? I didn’t. No wonder every place outside of Starbucks calls it a “blended” drink. I’m still using it because ‘why not,’ but there’s your fun fact for the day. Anyways. I was on a roll with the story but here’s where my backlog ends, so the next bits may take a little time.

 

“Is that all you ever have for lunch?”

“Hello to you too.” I looked up at Steve and added: “Busybody.”

“Sorry,” he said, and looked it, so I waved my hand to let him know it wasn’t anything. He sat next to me and brought out his trusty sketchbook. “I mean, I’ve heard of living off caffeine, but I always thought it was facetious.”

I snorted. “It depends. But I tend to eat at my desk so I can enjoy my actual hour break, so don’t worry. I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said and left him to his own devices. Until I realized something. “Hey, do _you_ eat lunch?”

“Busybody,” he said without any inflection and was that a smirk?

“Fair is fair,” I said and waved a finger at him. “It’s my turn to be nosy.”

The smirk turned to a smile and he lifted his head. “I eat at home, mostly,” he said. “I eat a lot and it tends to…draw attention.”

“Oh, same,” I said and patted my stomach.

It made him laugh, so that was nice. Except that not one minute later he stopped sketching and lifted his head. “You know, I didn’t mean–”

“If you apologize again I am going to go up to the counter, order the coldest, sugariest drink they have, and give it to you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “How are you going to make me drink it?”

“I’m just going to let it sit there. If you don’t want it you can throw it out.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I don’t care. I bought a sandwich last night, took two bites, and hated it so much I trashed the whole thing.” I stared him down. “Try me.”

His mouth twisted like he didn’t like the taste of my _words_. But he didn’t lecture me. Directly. “Buying something you know I won’t drink would be a big waste of money on your part.”

“It’s worth it for the entertainment of watching you try to justify tossing it. And it’s still cheaper than going to a movie,” I said. “I don’t know if you’re allergic to wasting food or what but I watched you struggle through a muffin you obviously did _not_ want to be eating.”

“How observant,” he said dryly.

“Dude, you were making faces. It was hilarious.”

His face scrunched with his frown. “You’re lying.”

“Nope. Best lunch break _ever_ ,” I said. I could still remember it fondly, though I wish I had taken video. Damn my respect for privacy. “I could have told you that a bran muffin wasn’t going to turn out good.”

“I’ve had some that I liked,” he said. He quickly amended, “One. I’ve had one that was good.”

“Hmmmmm.” I gave him the best side-eye I could manage. “Okay, I _guess_ I’ll believe that, just because you’re that boring and no one would lie about liking bran muffins.”

“Hey, I’m trying new things,” Steve said and opened his arms. “When’s the last time you changed _your_ order?”

I looked at my drink and snack and, yeah, I had been on a kick for a while. I rolled my eyes at Steve’s stupid smug face. “Touché _. Fine_. Bring me this mystical ‘good’ bran muffin and I’ll try it. _If_ –” I pointed at a drink nearby. “ _If_ you try a frappuccino.”

“Is _that_ what that thing is called?” he asked. But he smiled at me and stuck out his hand. “Okay– deal.”

We shook on it. …But I hoped he would forget about it. I knew I was going to and boy wouldn’t that be an unpleasant surprise to have one day.

“Hey,” he said a few minutes later. “Did you really throw out a whole sandwich?”

I laughed. “To be honest: I don’t like to waste food either. It was _that_ bad,” I said, just glancing up at him from my phone. “And the guy who made it was so damn rude– I’m never going back there again. But yeah; I couldn’t choke it down, so I just gave up on having dinner.”

“Hm,” he said, and I thought that was it.

“…But you’re going to get more than a bite into the muffin, right?”

I kept my head where it was, but let my eyes move to the top of the sockets to stare at him. “You’re not _really_ going to bring a bran muffin. Are you?”

He smiled sweetly.

 

“I can’t believe you’re actually making me do this.”

“You didn’t _have_ to shake on it,” he said, but he was unable to contain his smile, the sadistic bastard. He even held up his identical brown sponge. “Now…which drink should I get?”

Oh what I wouldn’t have given for this place to have a green tea one just to see the look on his face. And then the look on his face when he realized it was good. Alas, the menu board was no help for returned sadism. “The caramel blended drink,” I said and poked my “treat.”

“Okay. Don’t eat until I get back,” he said and rushed to the counter. Yep. Sadist. However, I wanted to see his face when he took his first sip so I did wait for him to come back. With something good. Because I was _nice_. Ugh.

“Whipped cream _and_ a caramel drizzle,” I said appreciatively as he sat down. “Good job.”

“I figured I should do it right,” he said. The look he gave it though was wary. Cautious. Suspicious. The way he _should_ have been looking at a fucking bran muffin rather than a cup of caramel goodness.

“Come on Captain America. A cavity won’t kill you,” I said.

He gave me a look that said ‘if you say so,’ brought the straw to his lips, took a sip, and…made a small sound of approval. He pulled it back like he had to make sure he had the right drink. What a weirdo. “That’s…really good. I thought it’d be too sweet but it tastes good.”

I preened a little. Until I remembered what he had saddled me with. But a deal was a deal, so I broke apart the muffin into a few pieces, took a small one, and popped it into my mouth. It was…not the worst thing I had ever eaten. It wasn’t good, wasn’t bad, and I didn’t know how to react to it. So I took another piece, and then another, and hoped it would be _something_ eventually.

“You were right,” Steve said. “This _is_ pretty entertaining.”

I rolled my eyes, but he was obviously enjoying his drink and that was nice. There: good deed for the year done. I put my hand up to cover my mouth. “Dinner and a show?” I asked.

He looked up for a moment, then back to me. “Lunch and a matinee.”

I chuckled but when I almost choked I focused on eating. Or tried to. The time I spent chewing meant the chunks of nothing had coalesced into something unpleasant, texture-wise. Once I got it down it left an aftertaste that could only be described as ‘brown.’

“What’s the verdict?” Steve asked.

“Um…” I made an exaggerated shrug. “It…sure is a bran muffin?”

He laughed and gestured for me to hand it over. “It’s okay; I’ll take the rest if you don’t want it.”

“Are you sure?” I asked even as I shoved the napkin still full of muffin (“muffin”) towards him.

“Yeah, you gave it a fair shot,” he chuckled and I could finally enjoy my drink and game in peace. It took a few minutes but I finally got the ‘…’ taste out of my mouth and I sighed in contentment.

“…My playlists are going to suffer for this, aren’t they?”

I didn’t bother lifting my head. “I can’t _wait_ to hear what you think of Lamb of God. Or Powerman 5000.”

I could hear him shift. “Can’t I just try some other drink instead?”

I lifted my head and tried to smile sweetly. I tried. However, judging by the look on his face, I did the opposite of that. Oh well. I started humming “Remorse Is For The Dead” and planned out his musical homework. So maybe we were both sadists. At least now it was my turn.


	4. Crowned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets a little moody, and his new acquaintance sets the record straight.

 

Steve was in a mood.

He sort of had been for a while, but it started off weird. At first he was just quiet, and that was fine. It had _seemed_ fine, at least. Then he disappeared for a week or so and when he started coming back he was completely silent and really tense. His jaw looked so locked in place I almost commented on it looking painful, but I recognized that he probably didn’t want to talk. About anything.

So I tried to let it be. But then he started _avoiding_ me entirely. The day he came in, gave me a little nod, and then went to a table on the other side of the shop made me go over everything I had said to him over the past couple of weeks, and then everything I had said to him ever. I was not…completely thoughtful all the time. But even scouring over every social interaction I’d ever had with the guy didn’t bring anything to mind that might have set him off. Granted, my memory was shit, but the most likely reason was that whatever he was dealing with was his own thing. So I continued to leave him alone.

Except then the weather took a turn for the worse. Well, subjectively. I thought the clouds were nice, but the accompanying cool air made the inside of the café more crowded. One day it was so full that when Steve showed up there were no tables open. I happened to notice him as he scanned the room and I wondered if he would leave, but he saw my table and actually came over. And it was my table he saw, not me, even though I made no bones about watching him.

When he arrived he flumped down, like he was actively pissed there were no other spots open. It was…surprising, and when he noticed me staring he blinked, and took a moment– like he was just figuring out human propriety. “Sorry,” he said. “Can I sit here?”

I opened my mouth to say ‘of course’ but stopped and examined his stormy mood. Instead, I gave a short nod and focused on my book, like I was ignoring him. He sighed and hunched over his sketchbook to take his frustration out on paper with pencil.

 

After that, he wasn’t unwilling to sit with me, but the storm clouds followed him for days. Ironically, it was a day the real clouds finally opened up that he actually looked more relaxed. I still approached the table warily, but he said, “Hi,” and greeted me with a smile.

“Hey,” I said as I dumped my bag in one chair and my body in another. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he said. “I’m sorry I’ve been a jerk lately.”

“It’s okay; you haven’t been,” I said and pulled out my notebook.

“You don’t have to make me feel better.”

“I’m not. Because I am a jerk. For a lot of reasons.” I lifted my head to look at him. “But not talking to people when I don’t feel good is not one of them.”

He looked unconvinced, but he nodded like message received. He didn’t go back to his (still blank) page though; he sat there and fidgeted with his pen. I stopped. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” he said. He grimaced. “Yes? Sort of; I…” He looked around but it was busy enough that no one noticed or showed any signs of giving a shit. He looked at me for a few seconds. “Do you pay attention to the news at all?”

“Nah; I can manufacture my own misery just fine.”

He smiled a little and dropped it just as fast. “We…the Avengers don’t really do much. I work mostly with SHIELD,” he said. “But recently we got called out to a…problem.”

I probably couldn’t have found anyone dumb enough to take my bet that he was understating that. He went on. “I don’t want to talk about it specifically, but I thought it had gone as well as it could. Better than I expected, for sure. Minimal casualties and the damage to the infrastructure was nothing like the Chitauri attack here. But people were still…” He frowned and stared at nothing.

“Ungrateful?” I prompted.

“That’s not the word,” Steve said and shook his head. “I get why they’re angry, but some of that anger is from what they _expect_ us to be. Infallible. Way more…‘heroic,’ I guess, than we are. Than we act. Especially m– …And I just…I don’t get it.” He shrugged like it was nothing but he couldn’t quite fix the hangdog expression on his face.

“They always say ‘never meet your heroes,’” I said. “I guess some people can’t help themselves when they find out you’re human.”

“Is that why people are always so disappointed with me?” he murmured, like he didn’t want to be heard.

Well too fucking bad for him. “We both know that’s not _always_ the case,” I said. “You’ve got people coming up and being amazed by you. At least one of whom was directly involved in what happened here. As she told you. For twenty minutes.”

“She was nice,” Steve said, defensively.

“She was,” I said. “I know it doesn’t make up for the assholes, but if you’re doing your best it’s all anyone can ask; some things none of us have control over. And you’re not a disappointment, not to everyone.” I leaned back in my chair. “Besides– _I_ think you’re pretty fuckin’ swell.”

His eyes widened and his smile looked weird, with how he tried to repress it. “‘Swell,’ huh?” he said dryly.

“The bee’s knees,” I said, just as flat.

The pressed-lips look fell as he laughed and he took up his drink while I was finally able to unwrap my muffin. “I still think I was pretty cold to you though,” he said. “So I’m sorry.”

I shrugged, because there was nothing to forgive. “It’s pretty impressive that you being a jerk actually makes you _less_ irritating than most other people.”

“I was pretty off,” he said and crossed his arms. “Maybe I should show you what a real jerk I can be.”

“No thanks; if you’re going to be a real jerk I’d rather you shove an old lady or steal candy from a baby.”

“If I’m going to be a real jerk though, shouldn’t I be a jerk to people who are nice to me?”

“Theoretically yes, but my jerkiness means I don’t want you to be a jerk to _me_. Better the innocent and unsuspecting.” But I wasn’t really that hungry, so I broke my muffin in half and slid part over to him.

“Careful,” he said, smiling as he pulled it closer. “Or you won’t be a jerk anymore.”

“Nuh uh; I gave you the smaller half, even though you’re bigger than me. I’m still Queen Jerk.”

“For now.”

“Mm hm.” I took a bite of my food and a sip of my lukewarm drink. “Yeah, sure, the guy who almost went through a plate glass window trying to get the door for someone is going to be the Prime Jerk. _Right_.”

His blush was pretty rewarding, and set that argument right to bed.

It was good to be queen.


	5. Beg Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve plays with fire and gets burned. Actually, he would have preferred to jump into a fire. He’s learned his lesson though– never. Ever. Use image search.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mention of a gross thing that, if you recognize it, might make you lose your appetite. (Please read “And about the weird warning[…]” in the A/N if this might apply to you.)
> 
> A/N: I had a lot of fun with this chapter. It was originally two but it felt more awkward to keep them split up, so I hope this doesn’t feel too choppy. I did my best and I hope you enjoy it! Oh, and I try to make it easy to read, but the occasional typos within the texting sections are intentional. You’ll see why.
> 
> And about the weird warning: I like to multitask and I tend to read while I eat, and mentions of certain things really gross me out. So if you’re like me, here’s your pre-warning that you may not want to be eating now. For the warning-warning…you guys remember ‘tubgirl’? If you don’t, good for you! Never Google it. If your curiosity burns, use UrbanDictionary or something. Warning: it’s still gross even if you read about it. For those of us who know exactly what that is and can never scour it from our brains: don’t worry, it is only mentioned near the end, just like what I’m doing here. But it is mentioned and, like I said, I personally really hate hearing/reading about gross things while I eat, so I wanted to give a heads-up. It’s only polite.

 

I had to wonder if it was my fault people felt like they could approach Steve. Because the poor guy seemed to have to deal with it a lot more since joining my company.

“Can– can you sign this?”

“I just wanted to tell you–”

On one hand, at least he was getting actual empirical evidence that people _did_ like him. On the other hand sometimes he looked like he was just trying to get through it. Or maybe I was projecting how it would have felt to me. It seemed kind of weird, but I didn’t know how he felt about all of it, so most of the time I sat uselessly by. One time someone was gushing at him so much I held up a headphone. Steve shook his head, I shrugged, and the person in question kept yammering. I put both earbuds in and played the music so loud Steve probably got to listen to it anyway.

 

“I’m sorry; I think I cursed you.”

“Huh?” Steve asked and looked up from his drawing.

It was a quiet day but I looked around, just in case. “Since you started sitting with me you seem to have gained an influx of admirers,” I said. “So: sorry I cursed you.”

He smiled like he wanted to laugh. He did that a lot– he just rarely followed through. “It’s okay; it seems to come in waves, so it’s not your fault.” He leaned back in his seat. “It’s just…odd. I don’t mind it– it can be really touching and kind– but sometimes I just don’t know what to say.”

“Hm.” I sipped my drink. “Sounds like you need someone psychic willing to text you ‘emergency’ to get you out of uncomfortable social situations.”

“Well…I don’t know any psychics,” he said after some momentary thought. What a fucking weird life, to actually have to pause and wonder if you know any telepaths. However, he then grinned at me. “But I do have you.”

I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. “You’d have to give me your phone number for that,” I said, expecting him to make some quip about how me having his phone number was a bad idea.

Instead he said, “Okay,” and actually _handed me his phone_. He then _smirked_ , like he knew I wanted to back out.

Fuck. That. I put my number into his phone by sending myself a text. “There,” I said and handed it back to him. “You shouldn’t try goading someone as stubborn as you.”

“But now you’re on the hook to save me when I need it,” he said, waving his phone before he put it away.

“And now I can text you terrible memes that make you lose your faith in humanity.”

“I have a friend who tries to do that. Clint; he’s…” Steve frowned like he didn’t know what to say.

“A disaster?” I suggested.

“He’s a very good person,” Steve said defensively. “He’s just…”

A friendly trash fire. But I grinned. “The fact that you think I was trying to insult him by that means he’s going easy on you. Good to know.”

Steve, finally, looked a little apprehensive.

 

As it turned out, however, giving Steve Rogers my phone number was one of the worst things _I_ had _ever_ done.

Steve: Hey  
Steve: Hey  
Steve: What are you up to now?

So maybe I had laughed when he had literally tripped on his way out the door. It was _funny_.

Steve: Hey  
Steve: :)

I sighed and picked up my phone.

Me: I’m going to change your ID to Navi if you don’t knock it off  
Steve: I don’t know what that means  
Me: Look it up

There, five minutes of peace. After a second or two though I texted him ‘Context: Legend of Zelda.’

Steve: Oh thanks  
Steve: I was wondering what computer parts had to do with it

I rolled my eyes but finally ( _finally_ ) my phone shut up.

Alas, not for long enough.

Steve: Interesting  
Steve: Is that one of the games you play sometimes?

I had to think about it.

Me: Sort of  
Steve: And are you calling me annoying?  
Me: That’s a word I could use  
Steve: You know what else is annoying?  
Steve: Loud laughter when you trip

Oh my God; what a petty bitch.

Me: LOOK  
Me: A pretty lady flirted with you  
Me: And you tripped  
Me: That’s hilarious  
Steve: You didn’t hear what she said  
Me: I can guess  
Me: Honestly though you are an attractive dude  
Me: And nobody else seems to know about your terrible coffee-thieving incessant-texting awful personality  
Steve: The coffee was an accident  
Me: That you should have realized after one sip  
Me: Not one cup!  
Me: BUT  
Me: Point being  
Me: If a cute girl says she wants to bang you like a screen door in a hurricane  
Me: Just say ‘yes pls’ or ‘no ty’  
Me: It’s not hard  
Me: Getting literally tripped up will never not be hilarious  
Me: So do so at your own peril

It took him a little bit to respond.

Steve: I  
Steve: That  
Steve: Hold on  
Steve: Fingers

He was lucky I didn’t know him well enough to make any of _those_ jokes.

Steve: Do people actually say that?  
Me: :)

He was silent. I waited, but _minutes_ passed. I sighed and snuggled into the couch. At last, I could–

My phone buzzed. Twice.

Steve: Hey  
Steve: Hey listen

What had I _done_.

 

The music followed me out into cool air and I was still riding a good buzz when someone texted me.

Steve: Hey  
Steve: What are you up to?

He expected me to say ‘nothing’ like always. _Hah_! Nice try.

Me: Leaving club  
Me: A club :)  
Me: Youu?

I leaned my back against the wall while I waited for my ride. It was cold– I quickly put on my jacket because, right, I had that. Well, ‘quickly’ for a stupid slippery thing. There was a burst of sudden cheering from inside that I could hear even around the corner from the entrance and that, plus my inability to get my jacket on right, solidified the feeling I had gotten out at a good time. Good job, Drunk Me.

Steve: You  
Steve: Go to clubs?  
Me: Smtms

Oh man, no vowels was _so much easier_. But it wouldn’t work on everything. Boo.

Me: Sry  
Me: Im a little  
Me: Drunk  
Steve: So I see  
Steve: Are you all right?  
Steve: Do you need help getting home?

I laughed.

Me: Im ok  
Me: Done it before  
Me: Will be fine doing it now

I noticed the car and pushed off the wall.

Me: Onw home now  
Me: Omw  
Me: Sigh  
Me: I swear Im fine  
Steve: Okay  
Steve: But  
Steve: Will you text me when you get home?

Huh.

Me: Okaaaaaaay  
Me: Worrywart  
Steve: Sorry

It was actually kind of nice to have someone who actually cared if I made it home. I was _just_ sober enough to know I shouldn’t text that, though.

(Also, it was too much work.)

As it was, I got home and flopped into bed, almost forgetting to text Steve. I barely caught myself before I fell asleep and typed as quickly as I could.

Me: Home now  
Me: I sleep  
Steve: Okay  
Steve: You sleep

I passed out in the middle of laughing.

 

When I woke up I only felt like partial death.

Until I looked at my phone and got vague memories of texting…Steve.

While _drunk_.

I groaned and shoved my face in the pillow. Shit shit shit. What did I say to him? I liked the idea of chucking my phone out of the window and never going to my coffee shop again, but…fuck; I wasn’t willing to go on the hunt for a new lunch spot, so I decided I might as well get the awkwardness over and done with. Before I could trudge too dark and deep into the mines of alcohol-induced amnesia, I fired off a quick message.

Me: I haven’t checked my texts yet  
Me: But I’m sorry for whatever I sent last night. I was drunk.

With that done, I started from the top and scrolled through our (thankfully) brief exchange. Also thankfully I had been a _happy_ drunk when chatting with Steve. Phew.

Steve: You were fine  
Steve: How are you feeling?  
Me: Okay. Mostly.  
Me: Mostly  
Me: You?

He replied with a picture of an absolute monster breakfast that somehow made me both hungry and nauseous at the same damn time. I gawked at it (really, he was not joking when he said he ate a _lot_ ) until my stomach churned in protest.

Me: I  
Me: Hate you?????  
Steve: :)  
Steve: You would do the same

I grunted.

Me: Touche  
Me: I still hate you

He sent me a picture of his extra large coffee. _That_ looked appetizing without the rush of nausea. Well. Without one caused by the photo, at least.

Me: Gonna get me one of those  
Me: *Gotta  
Steve: And if you don’t?

After a few moments of consideration, I sent him a picture of the ‘guess I’ll die then’ guy. Without text.

Steve: ???  
Me: Look it up

There. I threw my phone aside and fell back into bed to curl up. That would give me a couple of hours to perish in peace.

 

To be honest, he didn’t bother me _all_ the time. He said hi, he sent me names of songs or artists to ask my opinion, we started trading book titles– he was really a pleasant guy. When he wasn’t trying to be annoying. When he was…

Steve: I’m  
Steve: Bored  
Steve: :(

I hit pause. _Again_.

Me: I’m  
Me: Not

I picked up the controller again. I could mostly keep playing while skimming Steve’s texts, but the consistency of his messages was kind of distracting.

Steve: What are you doing?  
Me: Something

I prayed for him to take a hint.

Steve: Mysterious  
Steve: Should I start guessing?

I let out a frustrated sigh.

Me: Playing a video game  
Me: or TRYING to  
Steve: Neat  
Steve: What game?

Every time I tried to ignore him he would just keep going with some sort of inane nonsense. And I couldn’t just shut off my phone. What if it was work? Or what if I needed a quick hint? Was I supposed to get off the bed and go turn on my computer? Hell no. So Steve continued to be bored and annoying.

I finally got through the main encounter and checked out the newest string of messages. Poor guy; he must have been really bored. My irritation was balanced out by the amusement of what must have been his misery, but his interruptions had made me restart my progress _twice_. What type of revenge to get…

I scrolled from top to bottom and then found something _awful_ at the end. Like, wow– who had brought up _tubgirl_ in a current day conversation in _public_?

Steve: They were laughing  
Steve: But one of them shuddered so hard  
Steve: I’m a little afraid to look it up

I started giggling. God; what a way to find out I was made of pure evil. Grumpy was one thing, but this– he wasn’t even asking me about it, just chatting into what he probably thought was the void. But I thought about it and laughed. And laughed some more.

A sliver of goodness made me hesitate, but eventually even the morally-questionable angel on my shoulder was overcome with a truly wicked sense of humor.

Me: It’s not so bad  
Me: Cringy maybe but  
Me: Just do a quick image search for “tubgirl”

I tossed my phone towards the foot of the bed and fidgeted with nervous energy that made me _buzz_. Either Steve would be mad for a while and eventually forgive me or this would permanently crimp our interactions. I hoped for the former, but if it was the latter then it was better to find out now. I sure as hell wasn’t going to magically be a better person.

My phone buzzed and I dove to grab it.

Steve: what  
Steve: wait  
Steve: WHAT WAS  
Steve: TAHT

I burst into laughter so hard I rolled and fell out of bed and onto my shoulder. It _hurt_ and yet I _could not stop laughing_.

Steve: WHAT DID I LOOK AT

I climbed back onto my bed, now in some pain, but laughing so hard tears were staring to form in my eyes and I wheezed with an effort to calm down. I tried to reply about three times but my fingers kept slipping as I kept falling back into hysterical laughter.

Me: omg  
Me: omg  
Me: im dyingg  
Steve: GOOD

That just set me off again.

Steve: I HAVE A  
Steve: PHOYOGRAPHIC  
Steve: MEMORY  
Steve: THAT’S IN MY HEAD  
Steve: FOREVER

My stomach ached almost as bad as my shoulder; I didn’t know if I had _ever_ laughed so hard. Thankfully the debilitating fits stopped, but I kept getting (and giving into) the urge to giggle.

Me: If it makes you feel better  
Me: I don’t have a photographic memory  
Me: And I can never unsee it.  
Steve: YOU KNOW WHAT THAT FEELS LIKE  
Steve: AND STILL

This was the best day.

Me: Aw  
Me: I’m sorry  
Steve: No you’re not

I snickered and sent him back a smiley emoji while I kicked my feet like a fourteen year old girl texting her best friend about a crush.

Me: Hey  
Me: Whatcha doing? :)  
Steve: Ignoring you

I tried to poke at him a few more times but he stayed true to his word. I made peace with the fact that I was probably going to have to buy his coffee for the next year, but fell into giggle fits for the rest of the day.

 

The next day, anxiety crept in. Just a little, but I started to worry that maybe I had crossed a line. It didn’t feel like it, but it wouldn’t be the first time I had fucked up with people. And work was slow in the morning, so I had plenty of time to think way too hard on it.

As I approached my familiar shop I squared up and took a deep breath. It was the moment of truth, and I only entertained the thought of running away for a second before I forced myself to step inside. While I was waiting in line, I scanned for Steve. He had gotten the really good table in the far back corner and was sketching away but, oddly, had no food or drink. He lifted his head, looked at me…and _scowled_.

Relief washed through me so hard I smiled and he scowled _more_. I had to muffle laughter at that point (with my good arm) and I barely composed myself before I got to the counter. A frown would have been concerning; neutral enough that he could have been actually upset. That scowl, though, was _theatrical_. Well, probably not for his feelings on the matter, but his face was not made to look that sour because he just looked hysterical.

“Um, hi, um…” The girl behind the counter squirmed. “C– Captain Rogers said you were…going to buy his coffee today?”

I burst out laughing. When I stopped her other two coworkers were unabashedly leaning on the counter.

“What _happened_?” the other woman asked.

“Sorry; private joke.” I opened my wallet and ordered my food and his drink. “Did he want any food?”

“He said he’s never eating again,” the guy said. “Seriously, what did you _do_ to him?”

“Let me put it this way– Steve Rogers is the nicest person I’ve ever met, the first potential friend I’ve had in years, and absolutely did not deserve what I did to him.” I dunked some money in the tip jar. “And even if he hates my guts forever, I do _not_ regret what I did.”

I practically flounced over to the pick-up area and scribbled a quick note on a napkin. Once I had everything I asked Nosy Barista #1 if she wouldn’t mind taking him his drink. She agreed (too) easily and I retreated to a table on the other side of the store, to give him a little space.

A few minutes into my break, a body settled into the seat next to me. I lifted my head and Steve sat there. Very sullen. Almost pouting. He was the gift that just kept on giving. “I don’t hate your guts,” he said. “But you are _definitely_ ‘Queen Jerk.’” His eyes narrowed at my smile and he held up his cup. “And you owe me at _least_ a month of coffee.”

“Okay,” I said. “And, in the interest of peace, I’m going to teach you how to safely search for just about anything.” When I went to get my phone though I tweaked my shoulder. After the initial burst of pain, though, I snickered. “ _And_ I’m going to tell you something that might cheer you up.”

He shook his head. “In the interest of peace, I’d like to call for a truce.” He stuck out his hand. “Friends?”

That took me off guard a little bit. Friends. It was an interesting thought– I hadn’t had one in a while, but he was starting to fit the bill. Did I want to do it again? _Could_ I do it again?

“…Friends,” I said, and we shook on it. Ow. “You already know my shoulder hurts, don’t you?”

“Yup.”

“Dick.”

“Does that make me a duke then?”

Yeah.

We were definitely friends.


	6. Who You Think You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being Steve’s friend doesn’t come without its difficulties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a very slight thing in this chapter that necessitates me telling you that here’s where the canon timeline gets a little wonky, so this is what happened before this story: “Avengers” happened. Some of “The Winter Soldier” happened as well in that Steve was in DC– however he was sort of stationed there temporarily, and SHIELD wasn’t a completely lost cause and they were able to rout out most of Hydra on the down low (so the OFC/Reader wouldn’t really know about it). Honestly, this isn’t an action-adventure story so most of this won’t come into play because the POV is pretty much divorced from that side of things, but I just wanted to put that out there because otherwise, to anyone who knows the movies, the timeline as it will appear in the story is weird. It’s intentional, I assure you, and any other pertinent information will be in the story or an accompanying author’s note. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride. …Slow as it is. Also, personal coffee bias: restaurants that give you a whole pot of coffee to keep at your table are my favorite. Sluuuurp. Sigh. Sorry to anybody who doesn’t like ‘normal’ coffee; I have no excuse, other than I have a real keen desire for good diner coffee rn ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 

It was one of _those_ days. I couldn’t get to sleep the night before so I woke up late. Because I woke up late I didn’t have time to grab breakfast. Then I got to work and one of my coworkers was pissy, every time I got up to go get some coffee the machine was empty, my supervisor decided he needed something stupid done ASAP, and then, when I finally had a moment to breathe, I went to grab my lunch and realized I had left the fucking thing at home.

I stewed about it for a while and debated just not having food because why not, but my stomach was there to remind me that a pastry and some coffee was not going to cut it today. Besides, the diner I liked was closer anyways, and if I had to listen to my boss snipe one more time about me ‘spending a lot of time away from my desk today,’ I was going to get fired on the basis of homicide. Coffee and a pastry might not soothe the savage beast, but coffee and a big greasy something would put me in enough of a coma for the afternoon to pass by relatively painlessly.

That gave me another dilemma: tell Steve or not tell Steve? It wasn’t like he ever told me when he was skipping out, and I never expected it, but I was…more predictable. Sadly. Also, the diner might have been closer to work, but I passed it on my way _to_ the coffee shop and I didn’t know where Steve approached from. If he happened to see me would he think I was skipping out on him or avoiding him?

I rubbed my forehead with the base of my palm. Friends were _hard_. But I pulled out my phone.

Me: I actually have to go out for food today

I thought about it but then decided– fuck it.

Me: I’ll prob end up going to a diner not far away if you feel like switching it up

It took only a minute for him to respond.

Steve: That sounds great

I looked around for anybody nearby and, safety assured, I looked up the address and sent him the information.

Steve: I’ll probably get there first  
Me: Cool. Save me a seat ;)

 

When I got to the diner I was a little less done with the day, but I got put back in my sour mood when I stepped inside and two gossiping biddies blocked my way forward. I tried to give it a few seconds, because I _could_ be polite (and I didn’t want anybody spitting in my coffee), but when they showed no sign of moving I said, “Excuse me.”

They jumped. “Oh; sorry!” one of the women said and whipped out a menu. “Just one?”

“Uh, actually I’m meeting with…” I scanned the place and settled on Steve, who, of course, sat at a table at the very back. “Ah, there he is.”

I had to scoot around the other waitress and there was an awkward moment where it looked like they wanted to _stop_ me, but I made it to Steve who looked up and smiled when I sat down. I smiled when I saw the carafe sitting right next to his hand.

“This place is nice,” he said, very polite. Of course; he had to have noticed his creeping fan club. Who had gone right back to creeping.

“It’s got good food and _great_ coffee,” I said and turned over the pristine mug sitting right in front of me. Steve, about to top off his own cup, stopped and then moved to pour for me.

Or, he looked like he was _going_ to pour me a cup. He didn’t get past the center of the table before the other woman from the front swooped in like a freaking seagull and stole it right out of his hand. “I’ll get you a new pot!” she said cheerfully and scurried off with the one saving grace of this miserable fucking day.

I held back a whimper and stared at Steve’s half-full cup. As if sensing my desire, he wrapped a protective hand around it. Not a bad move, if I was being honest. When he snorted, though, I glared and jabbed my finger at his stupid smiling face. “If you even think about grabbing the coffee first when it comes back I _will_ remove your hand,” I threatened. Warned. Promised.

“So how’s your day going?” he asked with a smile that already knew the answer.

I slumped onto the table. “Do you ever have those days where _everything_ goes wrong but you can’t complain about it because it’s all so small and would just make you sound petty?”

“Yeah. Those are awful,” Steve said, with real, honest sympathy. I studied him but no– he even looked appropriately commiserating.

I relaxed into the booth. “I knew you could appreciate the hardship of not being able to complain.”

He laughed right as the waitress came back, which was a good thing because it distracted him from the fresh pot she put down (right next to him, naturally), and she was so mesmerized by the sight that I was able to take the whole thing and pour myself a cup– after which, I topped him off.

“Are you ready to order?” I asked him as he shifted uncomfortably under her Medusa-intense stare. “Not to rush, but I do need to get back to work eventually.”

“Right,” Steve said and smiled up at her. Struck speechless by boyish charm, she whipped out her notepad and took our orders before floating into the back like Pepe le Pew on a heart-shaped cloud.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I like the food and it doesn’t get too busy at this time; I didn’t know they’d be all…”

“It’s all right,” Steve said. “I mean, you’ve seen the people who come to the coffee shop _just_ to talk to me.”

“Weirdos,” I said into my cup before I took a long drink. He got that strained ‘I agree with you but I won’t give you the satisfaction of telling you that because I’m actually a nice person who cares about other people and their feelings’ smile. I was getting very used to that smile.

Then he smirked. “Miser,” he said and I choked on liquid. Naturally he was all innocence when the food came around, but once we got the waitresses to buzz off, we had a pretty nice time. When it came time to leave he even snagged the bill, and the ladies were so smitten by “such a gentleman” that they were no help in my insistence to split the bill.

“I’ve never seen someone crankier to have their lunch paid for,” Steve chuckled as we stood up and went to leave. “Will you stop glaring at me if I promise to let you pay for next time?”

“Hmm. So next time you can order a ton of food and say ‘but you promised?’” I stepped through the door and held it for him.

“Why? Because it’s something you would do?” he asked. I was curious as he walked with me down the street, since I was leading on my way back to work, but I let it be. Apparently I was on his way.

“I wouldn’t have been able to think of it so fast, but it’s pretty devious. I approve,” I said and slowed as we turned a corner and arrived at my building. Some people walked by like normal and some of them gawked at Steve. Some of those were my coworkers, embarrassingly enough, and so I turned to face him. “This is my home for the next few hours. Thanks for lunch.”

“Anytime. It was fun to do something different,” he said and actually opened his arm. The hug was a little awkward– he was big and I over thought it, (naturally), fretting about whether to mirror his one arm or go for both. It was nice, though, and thankfully brief. After that he smiled, nodded, and went on his way. I felt pretty nice, though. Nice enough that I breezed past my curious cubicle-mate before she could open her mouth and I managed to finish the day in relative peace.

 

It was all downhill from there. Well, not _all_. I saw Steve the next day, where he told me he was going to DC for a few days to do some work and also hang out with his friend Sam. “I think you’d like each other,” Steve said.

“Really? Is he also a cranky bastard?” I asked as I scrolled through photos, looking for a nice new phone background.

“Mm, no. He’s actually really friendly. He’s funny too,” Steve said. “He’s so smart and strong; he runs a support group for veterans. We met and sort of…clicked right away.”

I looked at him without lifting my head, because seriously? “So he’s nice, friendly, funny, charitable, probably pretty put together…” I said slowly. “What makes you think we would get along despite having absolutely nothing in common?”

“You both call out my bullshit,” he said.

“Ah. You definitely have a type, then, don’t you?” I said. I smiled as I got an idea. “Can I have his number?”

Steve considered. “On second thought, I’m going to delay the two of you ever meeting, if only for my sanity. And ego.”

“Ego,” I scoffed and ignored his pesky questioning to know what _that_ meant. I couldn’t really explain it, but it was fun to watch him twist for a while.

 

A couple days later I felt just about zero guilt for _ever_ messing with him when some lady leaned on my table with both hands and asked, “Who _are_ you?”

I was just sitting, bothering no one and enjoying my drink. So even though I had technically heard her, I had no _fucking_ idea what she meant. I pulled out the one earbuds I had in and said, “Excuse me?”

“Who are you?” she repeated like it was a simple question to answer.

“Uh, who’s asking?” I didn’t know what to do. Everything around me looked normal, aside from some crazy stranger demanding my identity when I had been sitting peacefully for almost twenty minutes. Was she looking for a fight? Why? My blood ran a little faster as I looked to the exit and how much I had to pack up. I was not at _all_ willing to engage someone who looked that aggressive.

However, on second glance, she mostly looked impatient. Still, she stared at me. “You’re walking around with Captain America, just…hanging out with him,” she said. Honestly, she sounded a little disgusted, which rankled me. “Are you his publicist or something? An assistant?”

Oh ew, was she going to ask for an appointment with him or something? “No. Just a friend,” I said and grabbed my phone. When she laughed it was a nasty, dismissive sound and my blood boiled, so to prevent myself from saying something stupid I put both earbuds in and blasted something loud so I could ignore whatever came out of her mouth next. I didn’t need a long lunch break anyways.

Little did I know that work would be even _worse_.

“Hey.”

I looked up to see my supervisor leaning awkwardly on the cubicle corner. “I need to meet with you today,” he said. “When do you have time?”

“Uh…” I glanced at my computer, but I wasn’t working on anything pressing. “Anytime is fine, I guess?”

“Great. Come to my office in ten minutes?” he asked. I could only nod, and he left. Ten minutes was, unfortunately, just enough time for me to start to freak out. He didn’t look happy. He looked nervous. He would have been mad if I was getting written up, so it couldn’t be that. Was he– was I getting _fired_? But I didn’t have anything to even be written up for! But since when had _that_ stopped anybody?

I did no real work in those ten minutes, and when they were up I took a pen and paper pad with me just in case, but I felt like I was taking them to the gallows. And when I got to my boss’s office I almost dropped them, because he stood next to his desk while _his_ boss sat in his chair. Layoffs normally came with foreboding whispers well ahead of time but everything had seemed fine; was I the _first_?

My boss’s boss, whose name I could never bother to remember, said my name like we were old friends and stood to shake my hand. I took it and smiled the best I could, sucking up the coming tears with all the willpower I had. He sat down and so did I even as my head wouldn’t stop running a ticker tape consisting only of ‘ _this sucks this sucks this sucks this sucks this–’_

“I hear you’ve been keeping some really exciting company lately!”

Wait a minute.

“Huh?” I asked and looked from him to my boss and back again.

He smiled big. I was good at my job but I was so not equipped to handle this kind of over-politeness. “Well, just the other day you were out and about with Captain America!”

All of my nervousness went away. Thankfully. Not so thankfully, irritation took its place. _This_ was worth scaring me over? For fuck’s sake. However I wasn’t stupid, and so I kept myself as light and deferent as I could be. “Oh, uh, yeah, I guess. Steve’s a friend.”

“I heard, I heard!” he said, still with that aggravating over-the-top smile. Screw Steve, he was going to owe _me_ another lunch when he got back after all this weirdo fucking nonsense. At least the people who fawned over him were sincere and left me the hell alone. “How long have you been friends?”

This was so not in my job description. “Um, just a little while.” He didn’t say anything to that, so I scrambled for something else nondescriptive. “We just…hang out sometimes. Off work hours, of course.”

“Of course, I don’t doubt it,” he said. “Lawrence has told me what an excellent employee you are. I’m just surprised you never told anyone here.”

“That’s…I’m not sure why I would.”

“Well, it’s Captain America!”

I wished he would stop calling him that. But I just swallowed and said, “Yeah, Steve’s a nice guy.”

He started going on about what a symbol Captain America was and I didn’t _mean_ to tune him out; I was just too bored to listen to whatever nonsense he was spewing. Also I didn’t want to get too pissed off, because even though I barely knew his name I knew pretty well what kind of man he was and therefore sort of knew what kind of ‘symbol’ he thought Steve was– and I needed to be able to get my paychecks without feeling dirty about it.

“–so I’d like you to ask him to meet with me.”

My brain put on the brakes. “What?” I asked. “Sorry– why?”

“Oh, I just think it’d be good for us,” he said. “Good for him to get an idea of the important work you do and it’d probably make some of your co-worker’s days to meet _Captain America_.”

I really, really wished he would stop _saying_ that. “I don’t…know about that.”

“Why not?” he asked, dropping the faux-smile for faux-concern. Shit; I had stepped in it. “You like the company, right? You like your job?”

“Of course,” I said, and it took me a second to recognize _what_ he had said. He hadn’t said that last part threateningly, more like concern, but I couldn’t ignore that very specific phrasing. It made my gut twist. “I like my job. I’m good at my job.”

“You are an excellent employee, and we are very glad to have you,” he said like he was trying to be earnest. “And we love it when people _love_ their jobs; it just makes the environment so much better. So it’s always best when we can help someone go above and beyond, right?”

“Right.”

He smiled again like that wasn’t the least convincing thing he’d ever heard. To be fair, I was pretty good at being neutral when the occasion called for it. He folded his fingers together and sat back. “Of course I’m not asking you to make him pin down a date; I’m sure he’s a very busy man. Bring it up; see how he feels about it. We just want you to ask, but I’m sure he’d be happy to help out a friend. I hear you do great work and I’d like to see you keep it up.”

I had to swallow everything awful that was rising up. I was good at my job. I was better than most of the people doing the same thing. It wasn’t the hardest work, but they wouldn’t pay me if it wasn’t necessary. But now it felt– it definitely felt like this guy’s professional opinion of me hinged on an outside acquaintance. And I couldn’t help but feel so fucking _dirty_ about it because what would Steve think if his new friend turned around and asked him for a favor? What would _he_ think of me if he met this man and had to listen to him gush about patriotism and America and all that other bullshit that was basically conservative-rich-white-man salivating? Would Steve still want to be around me? Or would he think I was just out for something?

I forced a smile and nodded. Like it was actual assent, Boss-boss smiled with great big pearly whites, expressed his enthusiastic thanks, and gave me his business card to pass on to Steve. And then I was outside of the office, the door shut behind me, feeling like I had just been thrown into and out of a whirlwind.

“Everything okay?” Paula asked as she passed by with the mail.

“Yeah. Fine,” I said. And I went back to work.

Later my supervisor stopped by again, looking almost as exhausted as I felt. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know that was…strange.”

I nodded. “Little bit.”

He forced a small smile. “Well, at least all you have to do is ask, right?” He looked at his watch and sighed. “I gotta get going; I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye,” I said as he walked away. I stared at my computer for a few more minutes before I gave up and left.

 

Steve was back. Chatting with someone, naturally, but the girl was just some shy teenager who had worked up the gumption to talk to Steve and it was kind of cute, actually. She put him at ease with nervous jokes and they were talking about art, which was good for him. It was nice that he could chat with someone while I just felt like a moody bitch.

It was stupid. All I had to do was ask, and nobody said how I had to do it. “ _Hey, you’ll never guess what my boss’s douchebag boss wants me to ask_ ,” was a top contender. The problem was, I really didn’t _want_ to. I didn’t like that my job was being reduced to ‘Captain America’s friend’ and I didn’t like the idea of putting Steve in that position. Even if I couched it, how would he take it? Would he see that I was just pissed and didn’t really want him to do it, or would he think I really did? Would I become just one more person asking Captain America for something? Would Steve still want to sit with me? If he did, would his smiles turn to that polite mask he wore when he didn’t want to engage with someone?

I realized it was completely silent and I looked up to see Steve’s new artist friend smiling kindly at me while he scribbled something. “Are you an Avenger too?” she asked politely.

_That_ was hilarious and dragged me out of my spiral for a second. I looked down at a body that had obviously enjoyed many a doughnut in its life, to the point that it resembled one in softness, and I looked back up at her. I joked, “Do I look like an Avenger?”

I thought I had joked, at least. The kid’s smile fell and she ducked her head and mumbled, “Sorry.”

I tried to think of a way to apologize, to let her know I was just kidding, but as soon as Steve handed her a drawing she said her goodbye and thanks and bolted out of the store.

I was really batting a thousand, lately. “I think she was just nervous,” Steve said gently. “ _I_ thought it was funny.”

“Hm.” He was too nice in a way that didn’t make me feel any better, so I stared at my drink. “Well…at least now you know why I don’t have any friends.”

It was only half a joke, but he chuckled. “Rude,” he said and opened up his arms. “I’m sitting right here.”

That did actually make me smile somewhat. But then he looked serious and my stomach turned. “Is everything all right?” he asked, sincere. So sincere.

I was going to say it was fine but…he was my friend. And even with all the bullshit lately, I liked having him for one. “Could be better,” I admitted.

“Anything I can help with?”

What a fucking question. I sighed and looked him over. He would help. If I asked. But all I could think of was telling that big fat fake smile to shove it. “I don’t suppose those muscles are any good at punching emotions in the face?”

His face turned down with long-suffering weariness. “You have no idea how much I have _tried_ that.”

I burst out laughing, because _of course he did_. I laughed too hard, probably, but when I came down from a high I hadn’t felt in a while, I was taken by his proud smile. That was something real, something Asshole Boss-boss would never get to see. But I got to, and that was special because it wasn’t Captain America. It was Steve Rogers. And he was a pretty good guy to know.

When I got home that night I settled in at my computer and started opening tabs for job hunting websites. This wasn’t the first time they had pushed me too far, but it would be the last. I was a damn good employee, and someone else was going to appreciate that. And for the most promising-looking listings, I started searching the surrounding areas for coffee. And food. While it wasn’t _technically_ his fault, as far as I was concerned, Steve owed me another lunch, and I planned on being his friend long enough to collect. And then some.


	7. Bi Association

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An accidental assumption leads to an emotional conversation. Being disasters is both a good and terrible thing to have in common.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Talk of coming out, mentions of homophobia, mentions of past Steve/Bucky and past Steve/Peggy
> 
> A/N: So at the beginning of the story I warned Reader/OFC is very definitely bisexual and that really comes into play here. I think this chapter was one of the ones that pushed me to keep OFC as an option for this story because coming out (or not) is a really personal thing. ‘Not all bi folk’ and whatnot. Otherwise, please enjoy these two doofs being terrible with real actual Emotions.

 

Job hunting was annoying, but surprisingly fruitful.

“Are you sure everything’s all right?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. Why?” I asked and looked at him.

“Your playlists are a little…” He gave the next word a lot of thought. “… _Heavy_. Lately.”

_Poor sweet summer child_ , I thought. Apparently Lamb of God had taught him nothing. “You said you like Rise Against.”

“I do.”

“So we’re branching out,” I said and went back to my doodling. “Slowly but surely, we’ll get you to branch out even more.”

“I guess– wait. ‘Slowly?’”

“How about you?” I asked, focused on my crummy little tree. “You’ve been a little out of it this week.”

I thought he’d brush me off. Instead I got silence. I lifted my head again and did a double-take at the way he stared at…well, nothing that I could see. After a few seconds he shook it off– literally. “It’s nothing. I’m fine,” he said. “Don’t you have to go soon?”

I frowned at him. “If you don’t want to talk about it it’s okay; you don’t have to–” I caught sight of my phone and the clock numbers thereon. I jumped up. “Fuck!”

“I’m just trying to help,” he said calmly, and he held onto the rickety table while I threw my shit together. “It seems like you’re more reluctant to go back to work these days.”

Of course he noticed. But then, it was hard to be subtle when I dreaded ever seeing my boss in fear of him asking about how ‘It’ was going. I sighed, slung my bag on my shoulder, and faced Steve. “Work is…work. It gets like this sometimes.” I shrugged like it was nothing. “So if you’re ever looking for someone willing to be chucked at an evil alien or something…”

“I have your number,” he said, smiling at me, and I saluted and ran out.

 

There wasn’t much smiling over the next few days. For either of us. On at least two of those days I was setting up follow-ups and moping about being rejected from the _perfect_ job. And on a day after that I went through most of my lunch break before I noticed that I had hardly spoken to Steve at all.

I then noticed that he was abnormally silent. He sat with his back even closer to the wall and had his sketchbook tilted up so that he was ensconced in his own little world. I watched him for a while. He ignored me and showed an unnerving lack of emotion. No concentrated frown or unhappy scowl, just…nothing.

“Hey,” I said gently. His hand slowed to a stop and after a deep breath he looked at me. Under such a dead stare I almost floundered– was it _really_ my business?– but I managed to spit out, “Are you…okay?”

I should have asked him _how_ he was but that was a mistake I realized too late. “Yes. I’m fine,” he said and went back to his dead-faced drawing.

I didn’t know how to follow up and it was very blatant that he didn’t want me to, so I went to put my second earbud in.

“But…thanks for asking.”

I hesitated but Steve showed no physical sign of having said anything. But just the words, even flat as they were, made me breathe a sigh of relief as I put my headphones in. Something was better than nothing.

 

We went through the same routine for the next several days. The next time I came in after that, though, he was sitting with a book, his sketchpad shut and sitting next to him, and at least an inch between his back and the wall.

Still, I was wary. “Hey,” I said as I sat down.

“Hi.”

He sounded…not normal, but not bad. Not exactly. Distant, sort of, in a way that I didn’t know if talking to him would be bothering him. But then his eyes flicked up and I tried to think of _something_ to say. An apology for staring would have been nice, but a coherent string of non-creepy words didn’t make it from my brain to my mouth.

“I, um…” I held back a sigh and tried to _think, damn it_. It took me a bit but Steve waited patiently for me to spit it out. “I know I keep asking how you’re doing, and I-I don’t want to be annoying, so I’m– I’m fine to keep asking, if that’s okay with you, but…but it’s okay if you _don’t_ want me to keep asking. I won’t be offended.”

He gave that some thought. “Is it selfish that I like being asked even though I don’t really want to answer?” he said at last.

“Personally I don’t think so,” I said. “But I also don’t think it’s bad to be a little selfish sometimes.” If he did, I didn’t know why in the world he ever associated with _me_.

His smile was small and sad. “I’m more selfish than most people want to believe.”

“Everyone is,” I said. “I know it might not be comforting, but…at least you're not alone?”

“In some ways,” he said, staring at his sketchbook. He rested his hand on it, slightly curved and gentle fingertips moving over it with short, light, absent strokes.

I was curious but I didn’t want to ask. Well, not directly. “Are you working on a project?”

He glanced at me and then looked back down at it. And kept looking.

“If you want to tell me to butt out–”

“I don’t.”

I shut up. Steve looked around the shop like he was checking for lurkers and eavesdroppers, but there was no one even close that I could see. He beckoned me to come closer so I hopped over to the chair next to him and scooted in.

He opened up his book to a portrait that was downright _breathtaking_. A man’s face was lovingly rendered in a mix of pencil and ink, and while the style was similar to Steve’s other drawings, it was so incredibly different just in the obvious amount of time and _care_ spent on it.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve murmured, moving his hand to rest right next to the sly smile and fondly shining eyes. “Bucky. He was…my best friend; he was…”

The thing was– I was not completely ignorant of Steve’s past. He had been a very important figure in history: medical miracle, war hero, and walking tragedy. He had never caught my attention because the textbooks always made him sound so noble and red-blooded American male and boring. But I’d had a classmate-kind-of-friend who had been _obsessed_ with him for a period of time and so I knew some things just by osmosis.

I had _thought_ that, at least, but I really should have considered the source that information had come from. Anything school had fed me had gone in one ear and out the other but my sorta-friend had, at one point, gotten my attention with an aside about Steve likely being involved with his ‘best friend’ Bucky. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time beyond ‘good for him’ but years of being (lurking) in certain communities on the internet had really made it seem like a true-but-generally-unspoken thing. That, and the fact that he had said nothing because he was too busy _stroking_ the drawing, made it pretty damn clear to me.

So I thought nothing of it when I tried to fill in the blank with, “Your boyfriend?”

It was…the absolute wrong thing to say.

Steve’s head snapped up and his face changed through expressions almost too fast to name– shock was one, _anger_ was another, then–

“ _What did you say_?”

His voice was not stern, or scolding, or panicked. It was… _chilling_. I didn’t know what the hell to make of it, but it _scared_ me. I couldn’t even swallow, my mouth was so dry. “I–I’m sorry; I didn’t–”

He leaned in close. I leaned back, but I could only go so far. “Where did you hear that?” he said low and glanced around the room.

I became vaguely aware of the world around us and, thankfully, we were completely unnoticed. I breathed a sigh of relief but I still felt shaky. The guy could give a death stare like no one’s business. “It’s okay, no one heard–”

“ _Where_?!”

I didn’t know how to answer that, though I scrambled to _try_ , only to be cut off by the buzzing alarm on my phone. I cringed and tried to shut it up. I’d rather be late for my crappy job than leave things like this. “I– S-so I–”

“Go.”

Steve’s voice was dispassionate and calm and he sat back in his seat. He kept his eyes on the table and his hand lay flat on the sketchbook’s cover. I was frozen, stunned by his coldness, but he ignored me. I packed up, feeling sick and miserable, but before I left I stopped and tried to apologize. He glared at me with eyes that looked full of _hurt_ , so I tucked my tail between my legs and ran.

 

It was evening and I was just settling in to be sad and pathetic and rue the day I ever spoke to anyone ever when my phone alerted me to a message. Only one person texted me without calling first, and after going through my work day in a state of constant near-tears while I replayed that moment over and over in my head, I was too fucking tired to deal with him just yet.

My phone buzzed again though. And again. On the way off-chance that it _was_ my boss with a work emergency, I reached out from the Blanket Pit of Misery to grab my phone from the coffee table. I almost wished it was my boss when I saw Steve’s name.

However.

Steve: This is going to sound forward  
Steve: But can I come over?  
Steve: Or can you come to my place

I raised both eyebrows. Thankfully, the next parts came quick.

Steve: I’m sorry for today  
Steve: And this conversation shouldn’t happen in text  
Steve: Or public

I sat up and stared at the screen. On one hand: ‘I’m sorry’. On the other hand: an in-person conversation. Ugh.

Me: I don’t want to fight

His response was immediate and came in a flood.

Steve: We won’t  
Steve: I promise  
Steve: I didn’t mean it; I panicked  
Steve: And I’m sure you already figured out why  
Steve: But I need to explain it  
Steve: Please

I was really tired. But I knew that panic.

Me: How the hell do you text so fast

I sent him my address and spent his travel time trying not to freak out. When he knocked, I started to freak out about the mess. I shoved the blankets to the corner of the couch and grabbed empty cups to dump in the kitchen sink on my way to the door. I then stood there for a second to give myself a once-over– lounging clothes, but clean, and I was mostly decent, so I opened the door before I could chicken out. Steve’s eyes were cast down and he was hunched over into his usual brown leather jacket. He lifted his head in my general direction but didn’t really look at me but for occasional glances. He looked about how I felt.

“I guess misery doesn’t love company,” he said lightly.

I rolled my eyes and stepped back so he could step in. “You're not nearly sadistic enough to know,” I said and shut the door behind him. “Do you want something to drink?”

“No thanks. I think I’m going to throw up.”

I had been going to the fridge but at that I stopped and turned to face him. Steve was still hunched and seemed to be shrinking more with every second. I took a step forward and stopped when he flinched. “Hey,” I said gently. “It’s not the 40’s anymore; I’m not going to turn you in.”

“Don’t joke about that,” he muttered.

“I’m _not_!”

I hadn’t meant to be so loud– even Steve looked surprised enough to have a spark of life again. But he was standing up and I had his attention, so I ran with it. “I wasn’t making a joke of it before and I’m not making a joke of it now,” I said, because I _had_ to make him understand. Somehow.

“I know you weren't joking before.” He fell back onto the couch, which creaked. “It made it…worse.”

I opened my mouth but he held up his hand. I waited, but when he took longer to compose himself I slowly walked over and perched on the edge of the other end of the couch. I felt so stiff I probably would have been more comfortable if I had remained standing, but the silence was so absolute that getting up would be too disruptive.

“Some people knew,” he said, so softly that I leaned in closer on instinct. He raised his voice a little. “Nobody talked about it. Ever. We were…as careful as you possibly could be when you love someone _that_ much.”

He didn’t look at me. I didn’t move. I wanted to…reach out, put an arm around him, do something, but I didn’t know if we were quite there yet. Or if he was okay with being touched at all.

“Peggy definitely knew,” Steve said, staring at the floor but obviously not staring at the floor. “And after Bucky…fell…she–”

Steve turned his face away and wiped it. I scooted closer and put my hand on his arm. He didn’t pull away, so I stayed, but I was stock-still, afraid that if I moved an inch in either direction he’d push or pull or run.

He faced forward again with a dry face and his throat pulsed with his swallow. “I loved her too,” Steve said. “I could have– if I had made it out, we could have been happy, you know?” His smile was sad and wistful and his eyes shone just a little too bright. “I like to think so, anyway. Peggy was never disturbed by it. Sometimes even made some comments that, I think, if we had _all_ made it out…”

He shook his head and got to his feet. “Bisexual,” he blurted out. He kept his back to me and barely glanced back. “I like that; it– it suits me. I think.” He turned to face me. “But I’m not… _out_. Obviously.”

I nodded. My heart was racing and the more he stared at me the harder it hit my chest, the harder it was to say something. But he took a slow step back, said, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have–” and then he stared to _leave_ and I couldn’t, I _couldn’t_ leave that there. No matter what it meant for me.

“I’m not out either!”

He stopped right at the door. I was almost not breathing when he looked at me sharply, but apparently having very obvious heart failure attested to my earnestness, because his eyes widened and his hand slipped from the knob. I swallowed and sympathized with how he’d had such a hard time with it. I felt like I was swallowing an egg-sized rock. But then he was utterly silent, so I asked, “Well? Does misery love company now?”

He flinched. “That’s not something to be miserable about.”

I shrugged, because that was easy to say, wasn’t it? He shifted from one foot to the other and looked extremely uncomfortable. It took me a moment to realize why that might be. “Yes,” I said and he nearly jumped. “We can be closeted bi besties.”

“I didn’t…mean to make you come out. I just–” He ran his hands over his face and through his hair. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess right now.”

“Just right now?” I asked. He actually made a sound that was kind of like a laugh. I sighed. I felt almost completely drained, but at least the hard part was done and over. “Take off your jacket and sit down,” I said and went to the fridge. “I don’t want you to break down in a cab or something.”

“I drove.” But Steve shrugged off his jacket and threw it on the coffee table as he sat back on the couch. “Motorcycle.”

“Even worse.” I brought back two water bottles and set one in front of him before I dropped onto the cushion right next to him. “I’m not gonna be the last person to see you before you wrap yourself around a pole.”

“I’d survive it.”

That was way too flippant and I couldn’t be trusted to touch it without also getting darker than I felt comfortable with. “Well, I’m sure you have a nice bike that doesn’t deserve that.”

We both sat in awkward silence. He picked at the paper wrapping and I chewed on the bottle rim, occasionally consuming some water by accident just because the damn thing was so full. “I’m sorry,” Steve said quietly. “That could have gone better.”

I put the bottle down. “Coming out is always awkward.”

“Even for you?” he asked and lowered his voice for, “Even now?”

“There’s always going to be someone, always,” I said. “And some that do it because, uh…they care, and they think it’s safer if you just… But– the times I’ve come out, I don’t regret it. Even when it blew up in my face. I never– I just don’t trust people, and sometimes I’m scared of what that makes me, of how detached I get, in the interest of keeping myself safe. I’m glad that, sometimes, even I can still trust people. Even if it’s just a little bit.”

I didn’t really expect anything, but of everything, I _really_ didn’t expect Steve to turn his body and hug me so suddenly I went “oof!” He didn’t hold tight though, so I crossed my arm over to my shoulder to pat his hands awkwardly. And then, because he was hugging from my side and I couldn’t really return the gesture, I slipped my other arm around his back.

“Me too,” he said and let me go. “I’m…glad you can trust me with that.”

“Same,” I said. “Even if it was unintentional. I’m sorry; even if I was right I shouldn’t have said it like that. I know how that heart attack feels, so– I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you,” he said. He still sounded utterly miserable though.

I nudged him. “I promise I won’t say anything. It’s no one’s fucking business, right?”

He breathed. “In theory,” he said. He lifted his head and stared at nothing. “I’m going to have to make it be, though.”

Considering the guy couldn’t come out to defenseless old ‘tries not to talk to anyone else ever’ _me_ without freaking the fuck out, coming out to the world seemed like a leap. “Why?”

He didn’t answer at first; he just sat there clenching his jaw so hard I was afraid he’d break his teeth. Then he stood up and paced, but from the marching motions it didn’t look like it helped much. Granted, my apartment was only so big and he couldn’t get a good stomp going, but still.

“I wasn’t going to,” he said and stopped. “I thought I could get around it, brush off interview questions and just act stupid. But then…” The muscles in his neck rippled with his swallow. “I was talking to this kid one week. They were so sweet, and they had a– a rainbow flag pin on their bag. I wanted to compliment it, but they saw me looking and covered it up. Then they made some excuse and left.”

He just stood there, but when I tugged at his shirt he plopped right down next to me. “They didn’t want to know,” I said softly, because as much as it sucked for him, I could really sympathize with that kid.

“And I _hate it_ ,” Steve spat like he was full of bile. “I hate trying to skirt those questions, I hate that the people who would have beaten me to death before the war look at me like they think I’m on their side; I hate that anybody like me is afraid to ask anything other than ‘are you okay that I exist.’” He sighed. “Most of all, I hate that I’m such a fucking coward I haven’t just said it yet. I need to, for my own sanity, but it’s…terrifying.”

I wished there was something I could say, something smart, or comforting, or even just kind. However I had a big load of nothing, so I just kept my arm around him and hoped it was enough that I was there. I hoped that he knew I understood.

He sat there, silent, but he didn’t leave, and eventually I got an idea. “Hey,” I said and got up. “Since you’re here, come on; I’m gonna show you how to play a video game.”

He didn’t protest, and even let me tug and shove him around until he was sitting on the edge of my bed and holding the controller in his ridiculous bear paws. “Fuck, your hands are big,” I said and eyed them. Maybe this was a bad idea. “You’ve got a gentle touch, right?”

He looked at me and made his lips a flat line. “You’ve seen me use tablets and phones.”

“Okay, point,” I said and settled in as the system loaded.

“I mean, I broke a half dozen of each before I got the hang of it, but I’m sure it won’t take me that many this time.”

I glared at him and he _smirked_ , the little shit. As the starting screen came up I sat back. “Well,” I said. “At least if you break my controller you won’t have to worry about that pesky ‘coming out’ bullshit.”

He laughed.

It was probably good that he thought I was joking.


	8. Notice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things change, but thankfully not the important bits.

 

It was a really nice day. The sun was out but didn’t feel obnoxious, people weren't getting on my last nerve, and I had already put in my two weeks’ notice. Freedom was in sight, even from within the confines of my little cubicle.

Yet that wasn’t why I kept incessantly tapping my pen and failing real hard to get anything productive done. My screen looked like gibberish and I kept getting up and down from my desk in vain effort to expend some of my excess energy.

Even though the change in the air felt good, I worried most about my lunch breaks. Steve had liked to be at that café before he roped himself into my orbit; what if he didn’t want to leave it? I had run the numbers but getting there from my new job would barely be worth it. He had my number and wasn’t afraid to use it, he knew where I lived, but we weren't…like _that_. Even after our big mutual coming out, we never talked about it. We went right back to sitting quietly at lunch and occasionally harassing each other via sporadic text. I’d been through this before with closer friends– take away the foundation, and everything falls apart. And our foundation was…hanging out at lunch.

I was both relieved and disappointed when I walked into the coffee shop and he wasn’t there. About ten minutes later I regretted that disappointment when he walked in the door, got his coffee, and plopped down with a bright, “Hi.”

I picked at my receipt. “Hi.”

He was more subdued when he asked, “How are you?”

“Oh…fine.”

“Really?” He leaned in. “You don’t look like it. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I shrugged like it really was nothing and sat up. “In fact…I’ve got a new job. I put in my two weeks this morning.”

“Oh.” He looked pretty surprised, just shy of shocked. Yeah, I hadn’t really hinted that that was a thing I was doing. Oops. “Congratulations?”

“Thanks,” I said. I didn’t know what to add to that, though. “It _is_ a good thing.”

“A better opportunity?” Steve asked and sipped his drink.

“Kind of a lateral move,” I admitted. But then I thought of _why_ I had gone for this new job and said, “Actually, yeah, it’s a…a better work environment.”

“Good,” he said.

“Yes,” I agreed uselessly.

“It’s just going to be better when you’re done with the move?” he asked.

“Well, yeah. That. And I’m…” I looked around, even though I still had a couple of weeks, and whenever I felt like coming by, because it wasn’t like I was fucking _moving_. But. “I’m gonna miss this place.”

“It is nice,” he said. “But it’s good to have a change of scenery sometimes.”

Oh. “Y-yeah, I guess.” I was a little…well, actually I was just crushed. He sounded so flat, so blasé. Was that an inevitable reaction or did he really want to pretend that night never happened and he was just humoring me in the meantime?

“Nat’s been teaching me how to be less conspicuous,” he said. “A new place will be a great way to start testing that out.”

I was getting so far into ‘this is it, this is the end’ panic that I had to reboot. It took so long Steve said my name like he was concerned, just as my brain came back online. “Really?” I asked. “You don’t mind? I mean, you don’t have to change just because I am.”

“I know I don’t have to,” Steve said and shrugged. “Normally I don’t make myself a regular anywhere. I don’t like being easily found. I stayed because I like the company.”

I stared at him. His smile grew slowly, but ended up broad. And a little cocky. “It figures that something heartfelt would break you.”

“I’d have thought you knew that by now,” I said and took a sip of my drink. “For the record, you have terrible taste.”

“I _could_ use some more friends with some better self-esteem, that’s for sure,” he said. He rolled the cup between his hands. “So, are you _just_ switching jobs for a change? Or did something happen?”

That was a weird question. “Who knew you would be such a gossi–” I stopped and considered _how_ he had asked that question and I stared at him. He would not look at me and I felt a chill in the pit of my stomach. “You…are the worst interrogator ever.”

“I’m better when I don’t care about the person in question,” he said and lifted his head to look at me. That was…surprisingly dark but also kind of badass.

I set the distraction aside. “So you know?”

“I assumed.” He shrugged. “You don’t seem like you’d take well to being told what to do. Especially with something like that.”

I held my face in my hands. “How did you find out.” I knew, but I had to hear it to move past it. I wanted to murder my boss _and_ his boss.

“They, uh…contacted me and used your name.” Steve leaned in and said my name again. “Are you okay?”

“This is really embarrassing.”

“You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about.” Steve snorted and sat back. “That Mark guy should be though.”

I took a deep breath and stopped trying to merge my face with my hands. “Mark?”

“That’s the name of the man I spoke with.”

Maybe my boss could live then. “Did he sound like an enthusiastic used car salesman?”

Steve tilted his head. “Bill Lumbergh with energy?”

I perked up. “You know “Office Space?’”

“Clint made me watch it when he found out you work in an office. He said it’d help me understand the life of a ‘wage slave.’”

“Huh.” I wanted to protest, but. “I wish I could tell you it’s not at all like that but…it kind of is.”

Steve grimaced. “I’d rather jump off Stark’s tower without a parachute.”

I rolled my eyes. I knew he was super-whatever but I was really starting to hate hearing him say shit like that. “We have got to get you some better hobbies. How do you feel about needlework?”

He smiled but lost it right away. “Um, but I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sure it’s a great kind of job and you– you’re–”

I stared at him. He stopped and shook his head, and leaned in again. “I want you to know, though, that if it’s costing you your job, I’d consider it. Maybe if I talk to them they’d back off you, at least.”

“I appreciate it, but…” I flicked one of the bits of paper I had worried to tiny pieces. “I really don’t appreciate how it went down. It gave me a bad feeling and I’m glad I listened to it. I’m _real_ pissed they went behind my back.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said and I could tell he meant it. I wanted to set someone on fire just for that.

“Don’t be,” I said, trying to make sure he knew I _really_ meant it. “It’s not your fault, it’s theirs. And I’m…glad you’re coming with me.”

“Me too,” he said. He played with his hands like a three-year-old with better-than-average concentration. “By the way, I finished talking to my teammates about…about what _we_ talked about. That night. You know.”

I did know. “How did it go?” I asked softly. “Do I have to beat up any Avengers?”

He grinned and lifted his head. His smile was so relieved he looked a little manic, but oddly boyish and charming. Lord help his future partner; they’d be wrapped around his thumb in about five minutes. “No,” he said. “It all went…fine. It went really well.”

“Good.”

“But now I’m a little sad that it did because I kind of want to see that.”

“You want to watch me get my ass kicked? Wow, what a friend.”

“I think you could yell some of them down,” Steve said. “But…they were all really good about it. Even Tony, once he knew I was serious.”

“That’s good. I’m glad,” I said and we settled into comfortable silence.

Naturally my alarm went off approximately two minutes later. I let out some of my frustration in a big sigh and started packing up.

“Two weeks,” Steve said like he was trying to be helpful.

“Fourteen days. Eighty hours.” I slung my bag on. And no overtime, god willing.

“Good luck,” he said cheerfully. Before I could leave he added, “If it helps, I’m going to lead them on. Until you’re in your new job. Just in case.”

“Worrywart,” I said and smiled. “But…thanks.”

“It’s all worth it to hear you choke that word out,” he said.

I threw my empty cup at his face and left him to laugh and enjoy his cubicle-free day.


	9. Drunk Buddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions suck. But it’s nice to have someone willing to stick around despite them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for intentional typos, drunkenness, POV being slightly down/self-deprecating in parts. I wish I had more to say but uh, new Fire Emblem game is really good and all my braincells are going towards romancing and teaching and stabbing. Please enjoy!

 

I was drunk. Just the right amount– I felt pretty pleasant, light and comfortable, but I wasn’t out of it. Or so I thought, until I stumbled outside and suddenly I couldn’t, for the life of me, remember how I had decided I was going to get home.

Oops.

My phone buzzed and I displayed excellent dexterity by catching it _just_ as it slipped out of my hand. So I wasn’t _that_ drunk and I would remember…eventually. After a brief dip into whatever nonsense Steve was sending me in the middle of the night.

Steve: Help  
Steve: I need a good excuse to leave a party

I bit down on my lip to keep from laughing.

Me: Does anything need saaving?  
Steve: It’s Tony’s party  
Me: Hmmmm

I tried to think, but it was hard.

Me: Sorry  
Steve: It’s okay  
Steve: What are you up to?  
Me: Just leaving club  
Me: Stopping to try to rememember  
Me: How I was going to get home tonight  
Me: I think subw  
Me: ay?  
Me: But  
Me: Wait  
Me: Wht time is it?

I squinted at the clock. Okay, slightly-more-than-midnight.

Me: Okay guess i’m not  
Me: doing that  
Steve: You were going to take the subway  
Steve: At this time of night  
Steve: While drunk?

I stuck out my tongue.

Me: Stop it  
Me: I can feel the look you’re making  
Me: Also I dint know it was so late  
Me: Also also: I’m not as drunk as I look in texting. A little yes but i’m more lazy than out of it  
Steve: Regardless  
Steve: Do you need a ride home?

I smirked.

Me: I guess if I can’t think of an excuse I can be one  
Steve: Exactly!

That was nice. I hadn’t seen him in a few days. I missed him.

Me: Ooooooooo  
Me: Are you hungry?  
Me: There’s a dumb trendy pizza place  
Me: That’ll probably close within a couple months  
Me: But it’s actually really tasty  
Me: Wanna meet?  
Me: There?  
Steve: I’d rather make sure you stay safe  
Me: It’s like a block away  
Me: Or smth

I made an executive decision and sent him the name of the place and the one street name I could remember.

Me: I’ll save us a table, pls don’t come in a suit  
Steve: It’s a little dressy for a pizza date  
Me: And I look cute for once  
Me: You will not  
Me: outdress me  
Steve: Noted  
Steve: Should I wear my workout gear?

I failed to see how that would make me look decent by comparison.

Me: Stop texting and get ready  
Me: Or unready  
Me: Whatever  
Steve: I can multitask

Wait a minute.

Me: Are you on your way????

He did _not_ respond. I started walking. However for me, at the moment, multitasking was a touch more difficult.

Me: You are such a dick  
Me: I’ll see you there  
Steve: Wait!  
Steve: I’m almost there!

When my fingers failed to hit the right buttons thanks to righteous indignation and adrenaline, I stopped again.

Me: I didn’t say I was on the same street

“It’s not hard to narrow it down.”

I jumped and my phone _flew_ into the air. I tried to reach for it but a hand came from over and behind me and caught it before it could be dashed against the unforgiving concrete. I held my chest while my heart recovered and I turned to give Steve the dirtiest look I could muster.

“Sorry,” he said. _Smiling_.

“You have never been sorry for anything in your life ever,” I said and put my phone in my purse. “How did you get here so fast?”

“Well, I was close,” he said. His hair looked good and he smelled nice, but he otherwise wore his standard jacket and jeans. “Also, your texting is…really slowed down.”

“Hm.” I really didn’t think I was _that_ drunk so much as he was just _that_ desperate to get out of an uncomfortable social situation, but I could sympathize with that to extremes so I didn’t push it. “Come on; I need food.”

“To soak up the alcohol?”

I dragged him by his jacket sleeve. Except, when we were just about there I realized I was less ‘dragging’ and more ‘leaning on’ him. I felt the creeping tendrils of ‘shit, this is a bad idea,’ but it felt like it was too late. It _was_ too late and I didn’t want to tell him to fuck off because I suddenly couldn’t deal. If I was sober enough to realize the ways this night could go poorly, then I was sober enough to deal with it. I hoped.

“Are you going to be sick?” Steve asked and put his hand on my back. It should have been a nice, centering, kind thing, but at the moment it just felt heavy.

“Nope; just thinking about what I’m going to order,” I said and slipped away from him to get the door. He was quicker, though, and pulled it open for me from over my head just as I went for the handle. That made it slip out of my hand and I fell forward a bit, but I caught myself rather well, in my own opinion. I shot him a dirty look and he shrugged with a sheepish smile. Since he was apologetic, at least, I went forward to stand in line.

The place was fairly busy for what time it was, but I wasn’t the only drunk person there. Nor was I the drunkest, which was nice, though they were annoyingly loud, which sucked. I focused on the menu, and scanned it for things Steve might like. “Do you trust me?” I asked and looked at him.

He was frowning at the board and his “Mostly?” was the most unconvincing thing I’d ever heard.

The look on his face made me smile. “Let me guess: you’ve never had pizza outside of pepperoni or plain cheese?”

“And supreme,” was his _defense_. But I could understand; some of the pizza toppings here were just plain weird, to the point where even I hadn’t yet tried them.

“Okay, hear me out,” I said. “The pizzas aren’t personal but they also aren’t that big, so I’m going to order four that I know I like and that I think you’ll like, and then we’ll get one ‘Boring’ for you to snack on just in case. Sound good?”

He nodded but looked at me with some exasperation. “You got something against just cheese and pepperoni?”

I didn’t even try to hide my glee at I pointed to the area on the menu where it listed, in a wholly appropriate font, ‘Boring.’ It was just a typical cheese pizza but Steve’s look of annoyance was worth _everything_. Suddenly, inviting him out was a great idea– the best I’d ever had.

“Do you secretly own this place?” he asked as we waited for the gaggle in front of us to grab their cups and go.

“If I owned a pizza place I’d be bankrupt and easily mistaken for a parade float,” I said and stepped forward to order. I got my wallet open as I spoke but when I finished telling the cashier what I wanted, Steve _still_ managed to hold his card out before me.

“Hey; you paid last time,” I said.

“And I can pay thi–”

He jolted when I smacked his hand and his card flew to the floor. I gave the bewildered woman my card before he could recover. “ _I_ give the better tip,” I said as she swiped it.

“That’s a lie,” he said as he came back up.

I shrugged and pointed at the tip jar. “Put up or shut up.”

He looked right at me while he opened up his wallet and counted out one twenty, and another, and…

My eyes widened at the end amount he dumped in the jar and when I stole a look at the girl behind the register she was straight up gawking. “You’re such a fucking show-off,” I said and signed the receipt (after adding my suddenly-so-much-less-impressive tip).

“I am _so_ okay with that,” she blurted out.

I laughed as he ducked his head and stole away with the number and his cup. “Sorry; I concede defeat,” I told her.

“Yeah, no problem,” she said like she didn’t even hear me and she stared at the tip jar even as I went to get my drink. Then I joined Steve in the corner, where he fidgeted while we waited. When we got the pizzas and I dished out some slices, he didn’t look upon them any more kindly than he had the descriptions.

“Here,” I said and pushed one of the plates over to him. Then I stacked the boxes so the plain one was at the bottom. “Try these first. If you don’t like them _then_ you can have the cheese all to yourself.”

He sighed and looked at each piece. “It seems like such a possible waste. What if I can’t do more than one bite?”

I rolled my eyes. “Then I’ll cut off where your icky diseased lips touched and eat it myself. Fuck, man, weren't you in the army?”

He ducked his head but he was smiling. “Sorry; you’re right, this isn’t any worse than–”

“Eat or _die_ ,” I said and threw a packet of parmesan at his face.

Thankfully he knew better than to test the strength of even a lightly-drunk woman’s stomach and he ate. And if the noise of surprise he made didn’t show how he felt about the food, the way he plowed through the rest of it clearly did. I managed to snake a few more pieces and I was still getting through them when he neared the end of his.

And yet in between inhales he still found the time to be really annoying.

“So, tonight…did you go with a date?”

There were a lot of things I could have said to that, but all of them were terrible, and none of them made me feel better, so I shook my head. “Just by myself; to get out.” He was staring at me, and I wanted him to stop. “I’ve been a little…down, I guess.”

“Hm,” he said, not stopping his steady look. “Is that why you’ve looked like you’re about to cry all week?”

I shrugged and took a bite. It was still good, but my throat had closed up, so I had to chew for a while. Steve stared at me until I swallowed. “What?” I said.

“I can be patient,” he said, smiling slightly, like this was a light thing.

I tried to act like it was. I rolled my eyes. “Keep holding your breath and I’m gonna eat your pizza.”

He relented then, thank goodness, and chowed down on the last of the food in front of him. When he sat back then, it was a lot more natural. “I can’t believe I let you pay for all that and I ate most of it,” he said.

I snorted and kept picking at my last piece. As much as I wanted to finish, my stomach wanted me to curl up in bed and forget it existed for a while. “If you admit I was right I’ll consider it paid in full.”

“You were right; that was delicious,” he said. He looked me over. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay. Sleepy,” I said and stopped playing with my food. “Do you want this? I only took a little bit.”

“Well, I guess so. Since I was in the army and all.” He took the slice and smiled mischievously at me.

“You think you can handle my poison lips?” I asked.

“For good pizza, it’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he said, so fucking deadly serious that I fell apart into helpless laughter. Then he took a bite and his eyes bulged and he grabbed his throat and my heart skipped several beats. I was almost out of my chair to try and give him the Heimlich when I realized the bastard was just _playing_ and I punched his shoulder hard enough to hurt. Well, me, but at least he must have felt it.

“You're an asshole,” I grumbled and shook out my hand.

He swallowed and took a moment to laugh. “I can’t wait to tell Sam. He says I can’t act to save my life.”

“I don’t think it’s real brag-worthy to get one over on a drunk girl,” I muttered and rested my head on my arms.

He turned serious all of a sudden. “Shit, I forgot–” He dug through his little backpack and pulled out painkillers and a bottle of water like a proud kid showing off his potato lamp at a science fair. “I’m sorry; I can’t believe I almost forgot these.”

“You brought this for me?” I asked. I opened the pill bottle and it still had the foil and cotton, and the water bottle seal was still uncracked. He hadn’t just brought it for me, he had _bought_ it for me. That was…so sweet, and while I took a couple of pills and drank some of the water, he cleaned up the table.

“Come on.” He held out his hand. “I’ll take you home.”

The journey was a little fuzzy. All I could think about was that he had known I was drunk and instead of taking that as a sign to stay at his boring party, he’d left to hang out. With _me_. And instead of just dumping me in a cab after it all, he was coming _with_ me. To make sure I got home safe. Because he cared that much.

Familiar melancholy rose back up in me like frothing bile, and as he helped me into my apartment I felt like I was going to burst. “Th-thank you,” I said. “I can’t– I can’t believe you brought me home.”

“I’m just doing what a friend does,” he said as he helped me to my room.

“Thank you. You're a good friend,” I said as I sat down and shut my eyes. It was going to hurt so bad when he eventually got sick of me. But it was okay. I had to make sure he knew it was okay. “I’m gonna– I’m gonna miss you when you go.”

He stopped whatever he was doing at the side table, and weight settled on the bed next to me. “When I go tonight?”

“When you get tired of me, and go,” I said and leaned my head against my pillow. I sighed. It was so much comfier.

“Why do you think I’m going to do that?” he asked quietly.

“It’s okay,” I said, because he sounded hurt. “Everyone does. It’s me; I’m…I’m no good. I’m bad at staying in touch; I flake out if I can’t handle shit. I say the wrong things. I’ve had good friends but I’ve never been one. So it’s– it’s okay. When you want to go, just know it’s oka–”

 

I woke up with distant dreams of fluffy pancakes, a minor headache, and a vague feeling of unease. I shut my eyes tight and loosened up when that just hurt. Why did I feel so _weird_? I had been a little miserable and so I had gone out. I’d gotten a little drunk. I’d texted Ste– oh no. But, wait, no, it wasn’t that bad. We had hung out, had dinner, and I’d come home. He had helped me home. And then…

I sat up and wanted to vomit for reasons _other_ than a hangover. Because I had basically done that to Steve the night before, only worse. Normal vomit you could clean up, but what could you do about _emotional_ vo–

Okay. I pinched the bridge of my nose. I really needed to stop thinking about being sick or I was going to get real literal about it. I took a deep breath, got out of bed, and shuffled towards my door. Physically I wasn’t actually so bad off– thanks Steve– but mentally I was spiraling– thanks Steve.

No. I gripped my head. No, that wasn’t fair; _I_ was the one in a bad place and made it Steve’s problem. Shit. I didn’t know if this was something he would be willing to pretend never happened or if this was the beginning of the end.

I took a few seconds to control my breathing and beat back the tears. One thing at a time. First: coffee. And painkillers. And maybe some pancakes. Then I could text Steve and apologize and…go from there. Whatever that meant.

When I stepped out of my room though I lost my breath entirely.

Steve. Was on my couch. Sleeping.

_Steve was sleeping on my couch_.

I flailed like a weirdo and forced some control while my body wanted to flee my own damn home. What had I said that he felt he had to _stay_? That was worrisome, but…whatever was happening, a: I had no clue, and b: he still deserved an apology. So I went about The Plan, but I made a pot of coffee and decided to dump all the blueberry pancake mix I had into my biggest bowl.

I was getting the batter _just_ right when I heard the couch springs shift. I put all my focus into making sure the powder-to-milk ratio was perfect and then started stirring. It was very quiet, so I took a quick peek and saw him standing _right_ behind me. “Oh. Hey.” I faced forward and started stirring in earnest. “I was dreaming about pancakes, so I hope you like ‘em. You look like a guy who can eat a lot of pancakes; I’m–”

Steve draped his arms over my shoulders in the most relaxed hug ever. Inexplicably, my head actually felt _better_. “How’s the hangover?” he asked.

“Uh…” I took stock. “Not bad.” I didn’t know what to say. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

If he wanted to pretend it never happened, that was one thing, but this question was not that, and I peered over my shoulder to squint at him. “Do I _have_ to say it?”

He stood up and shrugged. “I don’t know what you have to apologize for.”

“Puking emotion all over you?”

“That’s…evocative,” he said, wincing momentarily. “And I’m pretty sure I puked emotion all over you first.” He gave me a look with meaning. Man I hated those. “Closeted bi besties, remember?”

“What’s going to happen when you’re not closeted anymore?”

He looked like he was thinking about it. “Disaster bi besties?”

“You need to get off the internet,” I said. “But…accurate.”

“Are we okay?” he asked earnestly.

“I hope so,” I said, just as sincere.

He smiled and smoothed down his few fly-aways. “Sorry,” he said and glanced up like he could glare his hair into behaving.

I couldn’t help myself. “Oh thank God,” I said. “You were so hideous before; now I can actually look at you.”

He snorted. “You don’t share your feelings often, do you?”

“Did the teeth chattering give it away?”

“Knee-knocking, actually.” He leaned back against the counter. “So…are there going to be pancakes this year, or should we go out?”

My jaw dropped and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Asshole,” I said and buttered up a pan. “I did not mix a whole box of my best stuff for you to abandon me for IHOP. You're going to eat these pancakes or _else_.”

“Or else what?” he asked as I ladled some batter in.

“Or else you get no coffee,” I said and pointed at the pot. He made a sound like he quietly suffered an injury and went to pour himself a cup in the mug I had set out for him. I sipped my own while I made breakfast and smiled sweetly in return for the glare he aimed at me. As I made a breakfast for me and a human trash compactor, my headache started lifting really fast, and my body settled into a relaxed feeling suitable for a Sunday morning. Thank god for coffee.

And Steve Rogers was pretty okay too.


	10. Familiar Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe the real coffee shops were the ones we found along the way. Or…not.

 

My new job was fine. The people were nice without being distracting, my boss gave guidance without being overbearing, and I did what I was supposed to do and got paid for it. So work was work in a satisfactory way.

Finding a new place to spend a lunch break was slightly more frustrating.

Steve: Don’t laugh at the name  
Steve: But the menu for this place looks good.

With only slight hesitation, I clicked on the link. And stared at the logo. And…stared some more.

Steve: You’re laughing, aren’t you  
Me: No  
Me: I’m

I couldn’t figure out how to finish that.

Me: Are you sure that’s a coffee shop and not a daycare?  
Steve: It says ‘coffee’ and has a menu!

I read it over, and yeah, it did, and yeah, the menu looked okay. But _still_.

Steve: Are you worried about your reputation?

I rolled my eyes.

Me: I’m some schlub that nobody cares about  
Me: The real question: would YOU be okay with someone recognizing you  
Me: And saying you must endorse ‘Whoa Doggy Coffee?’

His silence spoke volumes.

Me: Also  
Me: Who the fuck does a themed coffee shop named ‘Whoa Doggy’  
Me: And DOESN’T make it western?!  
Steve: Why do I feel like  
Steve: if it was  
Steve: you would show up in a cowboy hat  
Me: *We  
Me: I know a shitty tourist stall that sells them  
Steve: Then this was a blessing in disguise  
Steve: But that mascot’s going to haunt my dreams  
Me: Same

I checked the clock. There wasn’t a whole lot of time before I took my break.

Me: There’s a crummy Starbucks a few blocks away  
Me: Drinks are meh but it’s surprisingly quiet  
Steve: That’ll work  
Steve: Give me cross streets and I’ll meet you there

 

The Starbucks That Corporate Forgot was fine for an ‘in the meantime,’ but I was really hoping for another place with nice people behind the counter and good stuff to drink and eat that also wasn’t far from my work. I had thought of coffee shops in New York as a dime a dozen, but I was pretty wrong, apparently. On some recommendations Steve had gotten we went to actual lunch a few times and it was nice. The food, at least, was fine, but all of it was a little pricey for me to want to make it a habit. And if we could find the right coffee shop, we could keep up a habit that I liked without hurting my wallet. I hoped.

The first place I picked out was a very generic coffee shop with a forgettable name. The drinks, though, were so bad that Steve and I took our respective sips and then spent the rest of our time together using my phone to find _anywhere else but there_.

Steve found a place that seemed fine but the guys behind the counter recognized him and were such assholes about it, it was like Steve had personally trampled their dicks in effort to destroy their oh-so-sturdy manhood. He kept it together pretty well while I felt like a static-charged cat, but when they started to turn their attention towards me I felt Steve stiffen up and I yanked him out of there before we could end up as a Jerry Springer special.

“It’s not that good,” Steve muttered into his cup after we had appropriated a table at a random food place.

“Tastes like bitter projection and manly, manly tears,” I said and sipped slowly. It made him laugh, at least, and his shoulders stopped looking so much like a straight line.

“I hear that much salt is bad for you though,” he said and _winked_ at me.

I choked so hard he had to pat my back to help me breathe again.

 

I picked out a place I thought looked great. Unfortunately, the rest of the city apparently thought the same. The place was so busy Steve was easily lost in the crowd which, on one hand, great, good, wonderful, fantastic. On the other hand, the shop was small and hot and conversations dipped in and out, bleeding and merging into a cacophony that felt as oppressive as the bodies surrounding me.

I held out long enough to order and then, despite how fast the drinks were being made, looked outside for somewhere else to stand. I found it in a spot right near the window and gave Steve some excuse about how I would just be a second, and then made my escape.

I was catching my breath a few steps away from the glass, in some shade, when someone tapped my shoulder and I looked up just as Steve slid a cup into my hands. “Oh, I’m–” I closed my grip. “I’m sorry Steve.”

“It’s all right.” His hand was large and warm on my back, but I didn’t want to shrink away. “Let’s take a walk.”

It was better than scrounging for a broken table in a place I couldn’t even look at comfortably, so I nodded and we started walking. Steve acted as a buffer between me and the street and I waited to level out. The drink was really good. Too bad.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Fine.” I checked the time. We had plenty of it. “I’m sorry; I wasn’t trying to skip out, I just needed some air.”

“Was it someone in there?” he asked in a tone that suggested he would be doing an about-face if I said anything resembling ‘yes.’

“No, just…the amount of people. I couldn’t handle it,” I said.

He lost the ‘choose your fighter’ stance. “Really?”

“Yeah, I know, but I don’t go to clubs _that_ often,” I said. “Sometimes I can handle ridiculous crowds and sometimes I can’t. I tend to avoid them in general; I don’t really like people that close if I can help it.”

“Oh,” he said and I knew what he was about to do, so I tugged his shirt just as he tried to step to the side.

“Don’t,” I said. “It’s strangers I don’t like; you’re fine.”

“Oh,” he said, and he sounded so _pleased_ that I had to look.

His smile matched his tone and was so sweet that I smiled too. “What?” I asked him.

“Nothing,” he said. But he couldn’t help himself for long. “People say I’m imposing.”

“People who don’t know you’re just a giant dork.”

“Most people.”

“So only…” I did a quick estimate, “…Maybe ten people know what a dork you are?” Because there weren't _that_ many Avengers, right?

“More like you, Sam, and Natasha.”

Okay, there were definitely more Avengers than that. “What about your other friends?” Or maybe that was the problem. “Co-workers?” Did Avengers get paid? “…Teammates?”

Steve flashed me a bemused smile. “Do your co-workers know what a dork _you_ are?”

“More than I like,” I admitted. “But it’s always only ever a matter of time.”

“Well, we don’t…” He shrugged. “They’re all busy; they have jobs, partners; lives. We train sometimes, and Coulson wrangles us in sometimes for a group dinner.”

“So they’ve met you more than once and still don’t know you’re a dweeb?”

He shifted. “What time is it?”

“We’re already heading back.” I wrapped both of my arms around one of his. “You can walk me.”

“Are you trying to make sure you can charge me for the full hour?” he asked dryly but didn’t try to shake me off.

“There’s not enough money in the _world_ to make me your therapist.” I gave his arm one good squeeze and let go. “We’re just two friends, shooting the shit. Or I guess we can talk shit, if you want, but I’ll have no idea who you’re talking about.”

He laughed a little. “No, I don’t– they’re all good people, and I wish I knew them better,” he admitted and we came to a stop. “But we’re different people, so it’s slow. But it’s fine.”

“Hm.”

He smiled at me and then nodded forward. At my building. “Have a nice day at work.”

I snorted. “Thanks, _honey_.” But that sounded so weird we both cracked up.

“How is the job, though? Is it good?” he asked.

“I do my job, I get paid.” I shrugged. “That’s all I really care about. So in that sense, yeah. It’s good.”

“Good. I’m glad it’s working out,” he said. There was a slight buzzing and I felt over my pocket, just in case, but he pulled out his phone and I caught a brief look at a vaguely familiar logo lit up on the screen. Steve sighed and looked at me like he was already tired. “This is probably something.”

I nodded and stepped back to give him some space. “Be safe. I’ll check out some places while you’re gone.”

“I can’t wait to try them out,” he said, saluted, and ran off.

Dork. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it all day, and eventually gave in and texted him.

Me: If you come back hurt I’m dragging you to that stupid doggy coffee shop. In a cowboy hat.  
Steve: Consider me bulletproof  
Steve: Going dark. See you soon

He had better, I thought, and went back to work with what little focus I could manage to scrounge up.

 

I tried a couple of places but neither of them were all that great and I had to admit to myself that my heart wasn’t in it. I checked the news but didn’t see anything Steve might have been involved with, and that just made me more anxious, so I did everything I could think of to distract myself. Steve was a loser but he had a good reputation for a reason, so I had to trust that Captain America would handle his shit so that my friend could come home.

About a week after he had run off, I was stretching at my desk in the mid-morning when I got a text.

Steve: Hi  
Steve: Back home

I breathed a sigh of relief.

Me: Good  
Me: Hale and hearty and healthy?  
Steve: Perfectly fine  
Steve: :)  
Steve: Find a new lunch place yet?

I sighed for an entirely different reason.

Me: Knocked some places out  
Me: There was a tea/coffee place that had promise  
Me: But I can never snag a fucking table  
Me: Also it’s so fluorescent it hurts my eyes.  
Steve: Okay Morticia

I smiled and sent him a line of thumbs up emojis. I looked nothing like, but as far as my overall personality and aesthetic, that felt like a nice compliment that required some thanks.

Steve: I have an idea

He then sent me an address, which I looked up, and…okay?

Me: A bookstore?

Not that I was complaining, but it looked like a small second-hand shop and showed no sign of having anything _but_ books.

(I made a note to myself to check it out on the weekend, though.)

Steve: Trust me  
Me: Okay  
Me: Is 11 okay? Got meetings this afternoon  
Steve: Okay  
Steve: I’ll meet you there  
Me:  :)  
Steve: ?!  
Steve: A smile?!  
Me: Shut up  
Me: B O O K S  
Steve: Okay Belle

I laughed. Jerk.

 

I got there about five minutes early and he still managed to be waiting. Despite being his usual self, he also managed to blend in well enough that when I first scanned the street I almost missed him. He was slouched against the wall, and when I did a double-take he pushed off the brick and walked towards me.

I couldn’t help but look him over. He looked good. Satisfied. “Do I pass inspection?” he asked jokingly.

“Meh,” I decided and looked around. The shop itself even blended into that same wall, a true hidden gem I couldn’t _wait_ to get my sticky fingers all over.

“You still have to go back to work,” Steve reminded me as he opened the door.

“And I can’t buy books if I have no money,” I said and sighed. In the shop, though, small and crowded with books, inhaling brought in that familiar thick and slightly musty scent, but it wasn’t overwhelming, and was that a hint of new I smelled? Ah; there was a bargain bin of unsold Barnes and Noble refugees. Also…there was, in fact, coffee. Somewhere. I scanned what I could see but saw no sign of anything coffee-related, not even a cup at the cash register. I turned to Steve to ask, but he was covering the lower half of his face with both hands as his shoulders shook and his eyes gliste– was he _crying_?

Not quite, but close enough, and I put my hands on my hips while he calmed down, but even calmed down his smile was big and wide and made him look like a complete doofus. It was my new favorite expression. Not that I’d ever tell him. “ _What_?”

“You, treating a bookstore like a sommelier treats wine,” he said, chuckling.

Oh. I had said that…out loud. I ducked my head, but it didn’t feel like he was making fun of me; he sounded fond, and that made it better when nudged me. “It was cute,” he said and started moving. “Come on.”

I followed behind, past piles of books and through shelves that almost reached the ceiling. We popped out of the aisle into a little corner pocket that hosted some arm chairs and side tables and the smallest coffee cart I had ever seen. It stuck out next to a wall and a curtain-covered opening, behind which there was a sound of clanking dishes. The people populating the seats were almost all elderly, aside from one balding businessman, and I smirked at Steve.

He rolled his eyes like I didn’t have to say it. Good, because it was quieter than a library and we piped down accordingly. He pointed to an empty set of cozy chairs and I followed the gesture to claim the seats while he went to the tiny counter. Nearby a couple of people argued in low voices. When I heard “writes like shit” I tried to eavesdrop, but Steve came back with two mismatched ceramic mugs filled with steaming hot coffee and sat down in the other chair, blocking them.

“Thanks.” The smell was great and I just sat with cup in hand, inhaling, for several seconds. Until I caught sight of Steve, staring at me and smiling like the Mona Lisa. I hid my mouth with the cup and took a sip. It was really good. I set it on the small table between us and said softly, “You look pretty pleased with yourself.”

“Do I?” he asked just as softly, his smile unwavering.

I looked around the room where all conversation had died in favor of reading. I held up my phone to Steve in warning and then started to text.

Me: Maybe not an everyday place  
Me: But a good option if we don’t feel chatty

He smiled wider at me. And stayed that way. I tilted my head in a silent ‘what?’ and he shook his head, but he texted back.

Steve: I like that it’s an option  
Steve: That we’re comfortable enough to sit quietly together  
Steve: It’s nice

It wasn’t like this was the first time we had ever sat in silence together, but he seemed to be having a good moment so I refrained from pointing that out.

Me: It is nice  
Me: But I think you just like getting me to shut up  
Steve: That’s just a bonus

And an _angel emoji._ The _bastard_.

Me: There has never been a more poorly matched emoji to person than that to you

He responded by sending three lines of them and I had to suffocate myself to keep from disturbing the peace.

Me: I hate you

He flashed me a brilliant smile. It had a dorky undertone though, so I knew it was genuine.

Steve: No you don’t

No, I didn’t. And shame on me for ever letting him know that. Still, he had done good with his find, and the coffee was excellent, so I let him be a self-satisfied little shit. For the moment.

 

I was running late.

Granted, it was my own lunch break and it wasn’t like I had to cut it short, but it was annoying. I was meeting Steve at the crummy Starbucks and he had mentioned having things to do that afternoon, and I hated being held up on my breaks. Especially by stupid people.

As soon as I stepped in I scanned the place for Steve. I didn’t see him at first but when I checked again I saw him in our usual corner. Talking to somebody else.

It didn’t look like when he was talking to a fan; it looked like he was having a meeting, with a woman in a nice suit, whose strawberry blonde hair was so perfectly brushed I ran my hand over my own head in reflex.

Steve lifted his head, saw me, smiled, and waved for me to come over. The woman turned her head to watch me approach, which I did. Slowly.

“Hi,” I said to him, trying not to glance at her and failing. “Should I…go somewhere else for now?”

“No, we’re just–” Steve stood up so fast he hit the table and made it jump. He caught it with both hands and set it down gently so his coffee didn’t spill. He smiled sheepishly at his tablemate. “Sorry Pepper.”

“It’s all right,” she replied with some amusement, travel container in hand. She set it back down and then extended her hand to me. “Pepper Potts.”

I introduced myself and shook her hand. Hopefully that was a good amount of pressure– I never knew if I was doing it right. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you too,” she said and let go. “Steve says good things.”

Steve _talked_ about me? I shorted out for a second, wondering what he could possibly have to say, and he shifted. “We’re just finishing up,” he said. “I’ll tell you about it after.”

“Okay, I–” I stopped when I saw the raised eyebrow Pepper was aiming at Steve. “Not okay?”

“No, it’s okay.” Steve smiled reassuringly at Pepper. “She’s the one I told. First.”

“Oh.” Then Pepper aimed her look at me, _both_ eyebrows raised.

I had no idea what to make of that. “I’ll just…go get something to drink?”

“Good luck,” Steve said and I rolled my eyes but I left them alone. I got a simple iced coffee, since the staff couldn’t be bothered to figure out how to properly use a fucking blender. At least this time my ice chunks would be expected.

When I got back, she was gone. I felt a little bad for how much that relaxed me. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I said as I sat down.

“You weren't. Pepper and I were going to meet later but apparently something came up, so she tracked me down,” Steve said, fidgeting with his cup.

I looked around. No one. I turned back to Steve and scooted closer. “So you’re…gonna go for it?”

He bobbed his head. “We’re planning it now.” He sat back and tried to smile, but it was a nervous expression. “Whether I like it or not, it’s going to be a…thing. So we’re trying to make it less daunting.”

“That’s good. I’m glad you’ve got help,” I said.

“Yeah.” His smile grew more solid. “I’ve got good people around.”

“Good. That’s good,” I said. Steve kept staring at me though, with that _smile_. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You're making fun of me, aren’t you?”

“No I’m not.” He took a swig of his plain hot coffee– about the only drink we were absolutely certain they could manage here– and nodded at my drink. “How was your roll of the dice today?”

I took a sip. It was actually perfect. That wasn’t too terribly surprising since I had added the cream myself, but pleasant all the same. “Nat 20.”

He frowned. I grinned. “Are you ready for the next reference you can drop to make your friend Tony’s head explode?”

Steve leaned in, eager and ready to learn.

 

The next time we got together, Steve proudly played me his new ringtone, which consisted of a man screeching “ _Where did you learn that?!_ ” and a burst of laughter, loud but cut short by the end of the recording.

I held my face in my hands. I was still laughing. “You are such a jerk.”

“Thanks, your Highness.” I could hear the smile in his voice. I didn’t know whether to be proud of my creation, or terrified. Maybe both.

“…Play it again.”

He did so, happily.


	11. Introducing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting Steve’s friends is going to take some time. At least baby steps are an option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter is a little choppy. I’ve been picking at it incessantly but I’m posting it now because it’s as good as it’s going to get, and if I don’t post it now I might never do it. On a brighter note, though: Sam Wilson makes an appearance. [Dreamy sigh.] Sam is in a weird quantum state where he is one of the characters I love the most but who I also have a hard time writing. Not that it stops me (I have…so many scraps centered on him) but it makes for an interesting cognitive dissonance when I glance at the filters on my works page. Still, here shows my bias/massive crush. I’d apologize, but I’m not sorry. Please enjoy!

 

Steve: Hi  
Steve: Text me so I can show off my new ringtone

I smiled and sent back a simple ‘hi.’ I could only imagine how that was going to go.

Me: So what are you up to?  
Me: Aside from terrorizing your friends  
Steve: Not much  
Steve: And in my defense, Tony was being so obnoxious Pepper was about to chew him out  
Steve: Technically, I saved him

I snorted.

Me: What a hero  
Steve: That’s me  
Steve: Also Rhodes laughed so hard he almost cried  
Steve: And Darcy ran off to tell Jane  
Steve: So I’m also bringing joy to others  
Me: So selfless

I probably should have started finding news articles about the Avengers so that I knew what they looked like. Stumbling into Pepper Potts and only realizing who she was (fucking _CEO_ of _Stark Industries_ ) after the fact had given me a complex. Tony Stark was easy enough to identify (there had been some periods where you couldn’t fucking get away from his face) but for the others…

Me: Btw is it okay that I just nod along and pretend to know the names?  
Steve: Well  
Steve: You WOULD know  
Steve: If you had accepted my invitation to come

Yeah, I was probably going to be hearing about that for a while. Still, at least Steve had understood upon offering that I probably wasn’t going to accept. I had been slightly tempted, for the novelty if nothing else. And maybe wearing a pretty dress or suit seemed like fun. And free food was almost always a ‘gimme.’ But it also seemed overwhelming– a lot of people, what did one _do_ at rich people parties, the fact that around a bunch of superheroes I’d look and feel like a potato trying to take root– and so I had decided, no, I was fine not going. It was sort of a shame, since I bet Steve cleaned up real nice, and I was sort of curious to see if he was really as awkward as he said he was at these things, but this was probably for the better.

‘This’ being my phone, TV, new book, pizza, pajamas, and fuzzy unicorn slippers. Once I had them all in frame, I snapped a picture and sent it to Steve.

Steve: I’m jealous  
Steve: Also: nice slippers  
Me: As you should be  
Me: And thanks. They’re the best.

He sent me a photo in return, of a huge swanky, shining room filled with beautiful people in beautiful clothes, all standing around talking. I grimaced.

Me: No offense  
Me: But just looking at that is sucking all of the socialization out of me

Not that I had much to begin with, but _still_.

Steve: I don’t blame you  
Steve: Sam is really popular  
Steve: So I snuck away  
Steve: He’s having a great time  
Steve: I just needed some air ;)

I smiled at that. And then noticed something about the photo that made me squint.

Me: Are you hiding in a closet???  
Steve: A little space where the bar meets the wall

He then sent me a picture of amber liquid in a nice glass and I replied with a bunch of thumbs up emojis. Then he went quiet for a bit, so I let him be.

It felt like it wasn’t that long though before I got another text from him– or at least, from his number, as the text was a photo of Steve as he, smiling but trying to look annoyed, reached forward. Presumably for the phone. I took a moment to appreciate the reluctant smile and well-tailored suit. He looked good; more comfortable and relaxed than I would have expected.

Steve: Who is Rogers texting anyway?

I cocked my head and sent back my first name just to be a smartass. I expected an ‘I know’ or something similar considering the ID probably said as much.

What I got back was ‘Oh :)’

Before I could finish typing out ‘What the hell does he have me saved as?’ I got another message.

Steve: I’m so sorry  
Steve: Sam and Nat ambushed me

I considered all the wonderful and terrible things I could have said to that, and decided just to modify the message I was already making.

Me: What the hell do you have me saved as?  
Me: And did I just put myself on a hit list?  
Steve: A background-check list maybe  
Steve: Sorry. I’d tell Natasha off for it but she’s disappeared already

I rolled my eyes.

Me: So  
Me: Why did she have to ask for my name  
Me: What  
Me: Do you have me saved as  
Me: ????  
Steve: Oh look, food. I’m starving. Gotta go  
Me: Steve  
Me: Steeeeeeeve  
Me: I will see you in person again  
Me: Steve

He didn’t respond. I blew a raspberry at my phone and tossed it down on the cushion so I could change the channel to some different background noise. I was just getting into the next chapter in my book when my phone buzzed again. This time the picture was of a plate stacked with, admittedly delicious-looking, hors d’oeuvres.

Me: Yum  
Steve: They were  
Steve: But I think I’d rather have your pizza  
Me: Reasonable  
Me: But no  
Steve: Rude  
Steve: I’d share my pizza with you  
Me: Sounds fake  
Me: Go challenge Tony to a drinking contest  
Steve: I don’t want to kill him!  
Steve: I’m a little worried now about how I talk to you about Tony  
Steve: And I actually think I’m going to try and sneak out early  
Me: Dude  
Me: Haven't you complained about how you never get to see your teammates outside of a fight?  
Me: And there you are  
Me: Drinking and eating  
Me: Not fighting  
Me: Hm  
Steve: I really hate how your sarcasm sounds in my head  
Me: Not as much as you hate that I’m right  
Steve: Damn it

I smiled.

Me: Give it a few more minutes  
Me: Go see if you can out-awkward your doctor friend  
Steve: With all respect to Bruce  
Steve: I’m pretty sure that’s impossible  
Me: Hah  
Me: If I ever meet him I’m gonna tell him you said that  
Steve: Hey  
Steve: You’d rat out your best friend like that?  
Me: What makes you think you’re my best friend?  
Steve: Sorry  
Steve: *2nd best friend  
Steve: Those unicorn slippers do make a compelling argument  
Me: They: Fuzzy  
Me: Warm  
Me: Unicorns  
Me: You: Not fuzzy  
Me: Warm  
Me: Steve Rogers  
Me: Sorry but they got you on fuzzy  
Steve: But not the other parts?  
Me: I wouldn’t bother with you if I didn’t like the other stuff  
Me: But stop avoiding your friends. Go mingle  
Steve: Fine  
Steve: But only because you were nice to me  
Me: Oh yuck  
Me: I’m never going to live this down am I  
Steve: No  
Steve: I have evidence  
Me: Gross  
Steve: Good night :)

 

The next night I couldn’t settle. I wanted to do something, but nothing that I had available fit the bill. I wanted to walk, but didn’t have a destination, and I didn’t really want to wander aimlessly. I was fidgeting too much to play a game. No book could hold my attention long enough for me to get through a paragraph.

I was about to try and curl up in bed in effort to force myself to come down from whatever the hell I was dealing with when my phone buzzed.

Steve: Hey  
Steve: Since my friend Sam is in town  
Steve: Do you want to go to dinner with us tonight?

I checked the clock. It was almost nine.

Me: How did you know I haven’t eaten yet  
Me: ?  
Steve: :)

I laughed.

Steve: It’s okay if you're not up to it  
Steve: But Sam is incredibly laid-back and easygoing  
Me: Okay. Gimme a sec; gotta take stock  
Steve: Okay, take your time  
Steve: PS, Sam wants to know if that’s like ‘spoons’  
Steve: Whatever THAT means

Maybe I could do this. I checked my levels, considered Steve and what he had said of Sam before. If he was as genuinely nice as Steve professed, I could manage. Hopefully.

Me: Same principle, just not as exact  
Me: When I do go more exact I’m partial to hearts from Zelda  
Steve: Natasha makes more sense when she curses in Russian  
Steve: Great, Sam is laughing at me

I smiled. Definitely good people.

Me: I found a heart container so I’m in  
Me: Can I cast a vote for ‘not super loud’? Does that exist?  
Steve: I have it covered, don’t worry  
Steve: ‘Heart container’ >:(  
Steve: Oh wait, Sam just called you a nerd  
Steve: I feel vindicated  
Me: He got the reference  
Me: So he’s a nerd too  
Steve: I’ll be sure to let him know

Since I was as good as confirmed, I got up and got dressed while Steve messaged me the details, and an offer to pick me up. I checked the address.

Me: It’s not too far  
Me: And I could use the walk  
Me: I’ll meet you there

It was a nice night. People were out and about but even getting closer to the place Steve had picked it wasn’t so bad as to be overwhelming. It felt less like a Saturday night and more like an active weeknight. When I got to the restaurant I slowed up and checked around, and found Steve chatting with, I assumed, his friend Sam. Who noticed me, nudged Steve and gestured with his head. Steve turned and smiled ridiculously wide as he waved me over like he was trying to flag a plane.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hi,” Steve said, radiating with the kind of energy you could only find in puppies that were starting to get the hang of training even though you could tell their need to happily slobber all over people was a desperate one. Instead he used that energy to open the door for us and I shared a glance with Sam, who shrugged and shook his head.

“Sam Wilson,” he said and extended his hand.

I introduced myself in return and shook his hand, like a real person. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Sam said warmly. “It’s always good to have another friend. Especially with _this guy_ around.”

Steve rolled his eyes and I laughed nervously. Sam seemed nice and warm and friendly and I didn’t want to fuck things up. Thankfully going out to dinner had an objective– food. So we went inside and sat down. I took a look around. It was nice, it was quiet, and my nerves began to settle. “Good find, Steve.”

“Phil told me about it,” Steve said and flipped open a menu. “He says it’s really good.”

I maybe took a little longer with the menu than I needed to because I knew the next thing would be awkward silence and trying to find something to talk about. Thankfully Steve took care of the talking parts while I figured out a few questions I could ask in case the conversation waned. Even more thankfully, Sam seemed to be a talker.

“You’re a quiet one, huh?” Sam said, smiling and winking so I knew not to take it to heart.

“I wish,” Steve said like a long-suffering drama queen.

Sam, I wasn’t quite sure about. Steve, I knew how to deal with. “Oh go fuck yourself,” I said, only half-joking, but both of them laughed. _Especially_ Sam.

I wasn’t sure what to make of that and stared at him, but he waved me off. “I’m sorry, it’s just– I’m really happy he has someone besides me to call him out.”

Steve frowned. “Nat does too.”

“Nat’s way too nice.”

“Hm. She doesn’t _sound_ too nice, but.” I eyed Steve and then looked at Sam. “Consider the source.”

“Mm hm,” Sam said knowingly.

Steve rolled his eyes. “I _knew_ you two would gang up on me.”

“And yet you introduced us anyway. Masochist,” I said.

“The most obvious thing you never notice about him until it’s too late.” Sam rolled his eyes. “You should see this guy fight.”

“Really?” I asked. I had thought I was going to set a Google alert for Captain America and the Avengers, but maybe it was better for my nerves if I didn’t.

Sam looked like he was about to give me some good details when Steve cleared his throat loudly. “Are we ready to order?” he asked and looked around for the waitress.

That was…strange. Okay, no stories about avenging then. Sam looked at him oddly while Steve very pointedly read the menu that he had to have memorized by now. I cleared my throat. “So, uh, Sam, you work at a VA center?”

And he was off. Thank god he was chatty, though he was also affable as fuck and tried to pull some details out of me. I felt bad that my main hobby was ‘staying in’ and that we didn’t seem to overlap much in what we were currently reading or watching, but he didn’t seem too bothered by it, and he and Steve were such good friends that they filled the dead air with stories and ribbing that made me laugh. Still, there was that itch under my skin starting to rise again, as I hid my face in my cup and wondered what I was doing here; maybe they would rather have dinner without me intrudi–

“It’s nice to finally put a face to the name,” Sam said to me. “Man, Nat told me about the look on Tony’s face when Steve dropped a DnD reference. I wish I had been there.”

I sat up. “Me too. Well, not really, because then the guy would have turned on me. But the sound is funny.”

“No kidding. Yesterday Colonel Rhodes refused to talk to Steve at all; just texted him everything he wanted to say,” Sam said and laughed.

Steve grinned at me and I smiled back. Dork. “So…you talk about me?”

He blinked and lost some of the smile. “Not a lot, but some. Is that– is that okay?”

Fuck but he was taking the question far too seriously. I had to do something. “It’s fine, just…” I stared him down. “We have _got_ to get you some hobbies.”

Steve rolled his eyes and muttered as he put his drink to his lips, so I looked to Sam, who wore an easy smile that let me know he’d be in for this. “Sports are out.”

Sam nodded. “He can bulldoze the best of them.”

“I suggested needlepoint.”

“With _those_ paws?”

“Good point.”

“My hands aren’t _that_ big,” Steve said. He then looked at them. “Are they?”

Sam got a truly wicked smirk on his face, which made the apples of his cheeks push out to ridiculous levels for a guy who already looked like a model. However then he looked at me and raised both eyebrows, and I collapsed in a fit of giggles like I was fourteen all over again.

“What?” Steve asked.

Sam snorted and put his hand over his mouth. I started all-out laughing.

Steve scowled at me and moved to pull my drink away. “Oh please,” I said, gaining some modicum of false dignity. “I’m not getting drunk off of one–” But then I looked at my glass, and his hand, and I started giggling again.

“You were saying?” Steve asked dryly.

I looked at Sam, because how was I supposed to explain _that_ to Steve without sounding like a creep, but Sam grinned. “ _Everything_ got bigger, right?” he asked.

Steve took a second, but after that second he turned bright red. “ _Sam_!”

Sam pointed at me. “She started it.”

I choked. “I did not!”

And within a few minutes Sam became less of ‘Steve’s cool friend’ and more of ‘still kind of cool but also kind of annoying’ which was _great_ because I suddenly gave about 34% less of a shit about what he would think of me. There was still the other part of me that was hopping up and down in fits going ‘friend of friend please like’ but I was able to eat at least and when Sam tried to rib me I was able to lob a shot back. Of course, then Steve made the fatal mistake of trying to join in, and we turned on him.

“I hate you both,” he sulked in his arms as Sam finished his dessert with flourish and I made sure I got my money’s worth out of my second drink.

“No you don’t,” I said and pulled out my wallet. However the waitress then came back with a receipt and a pen and gave them to Steve. He smirked at me as he signed. “Fucking sneaky bastard,” I said and put my wallet away.

“I’m surprised you’re not arguing with me about it,” he said.

I shrugged. I felt pretty okay, actually; mellow, and I was getting a little tired. “You invited me, so I guess that’s fair. The person doing the inviting pays.”

He snorted. I narrowed my eyes at him. “You cheated at the diner. I’m not falling for that again.”

Sam shook his head. “You have any idea how much he has in back pay?”

I thought about that. “No,” I said and focused on Steve. “But there’s a very grateful woman at a pizza place who does have some idea.”

Steve flushed a little red and Sam grinned. “Oh? You throwing your wallet around, Moneybags?”

“Well if I’m going to then why not do it for people working in food service, or retail, or anywhere else people are demanding and ungrateful?” Steve said and crossed his arms.

I rolled my eyes over to Sam. “How am I supposed to make fun of him when he says shit like that?”

Sam stretched. “I’d give you some pointers, but I think you can work out some on your own if you really want to.”

“True,” I admitted. “But that’s because I’m a terrible person.”

“Oh now that’s not true,” Sam said and checked his watch. I checked my phone and, shit, it was no wonder I felt tired.

“Should we go?” Steve asked.

“I should, if I’m gonna run laps around you tomorrow,” Sam said and stood. I followed his lead, but it was impossible not to notice the incredibly loud snort Steve tried to suppress in response to that.

“You’re going running in the morning,” I said. “Well, I was wondering what a seemingly well-adjusted person who appears to make good choices has in common with Steve. Turns out it’s all a sham.”

“So I guess you’re not gonna join us?” Sam asked and I didn’t know what my face did, but when it untwisted they were both still laughing at me.

When we got out the door I took a look around. Mildly busy, and it wasn’t _so_ late. Steve turned to me. “You can ride with us,” he said. “We’ll drop you off at home.”

“It’s okay, I’m not that far; I’ll just walk,” I said.

Steve looked at Sam, and though they didn’t say anything, their faces reacted like they were having a conversation. It was weird. And made me a little jealous. I couldn’t do that; I’d just ask Steve why the hell he was twitching. But then there was Sam, coming in for a hug, and I couldn’t be jealous for long. He was too good. “You should come around some time,” he said as we parted. “Meet the rest of the gang. They’re a little crazy, but they’re good people.”

“Well at least I’d have half of that in common with them,” I said, even though I felt Steve tense next to me and I wondered why. Was it about Sam inviting me to meet their other friends? Steve didn’t seem to mind the idea when he had invited me to that party, but maybe he hadn’t really thought of that; maybe he had just wanted to have someone to be awkward with.

“Nah,” Sam said, pulling me out of my spiral. Temporarily, at least, but his smile shone brighter than any streetlight. “You’re definitely a little crazy too.”

A smile pulled across my face completely against my will. “It was nice to meet you, Sam.”

“Likewise,” he said. We killed a few minutes by exchanging numbers and making dumb jokes about Steve’s hands (it was a _shame_ I had not recorded Steve’s whiney “Guys, _stop it_ ,” because if I could have given that to Stark I would have easily been a millionaire) until a black car pulled up. Sam gave me a little wave and hopped in the backseat and Steve took a moment to talk to the driver before the windows rolled back up and the car drove off.

Steve gestured in the direction of my home. “Shall we?”

I mimicked the gesture. “We shall.”

It was a nice night, and my return walk home had some nice company. Even if he didn’t say much. Normally that would have been a plus, but with Sam’s comment about meeting the super family prompting Steve’s weird mood…well, I figured I might as well get it over with.

“It’s okay if you don’t want me to meet your friends. I’m okay with it.”

He opened his mouth. Thankfully, I was faster. “I don’t mean that in a passive-aggressive way either; I _really_ don’t. I get wanting to segment parts of your life and keep them nice and neat. Friend groups don’t always mingle and that’s okay.”

“But I want you to meet them,” he blurted out. He shrugged one shoulder and kept looking ahead. “It seems weird when I phrase it like that, but I don’t know how else to say it. I don’t…I don’t want to keep you secret. You’re not one.”

“I know I’m not,” I said. “Apparently Tony Stark curses my name, even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

Steve blushed. “He does. Sorry.”

I lifted my hands in a ‘what can you do’ gesture before dropping them. “I don’t lose sleep over annoying you; I’m not going to lose sleep over annoying a random billionaire.”

“You don’t annoy me,” he said. He then tripped over himself to correct: “Most of the time. A majority of the time. You annoy me very, very rarely. I don’t mean–”

“As your friend, and as a person who is very pleasantly full and would feel bad about having to trip you into a garbage can after you just paid for my very delicious dinner, I’m going to save you from choking to death on your own shoe,” I said.

“Thank you,” he said. “But…” He slowed to a stop and I glanced over. My home was just at the end of the block, so I waited for him to say what he needed to. It took him a little bit to gather the gumption, but when he did he looked at me. We were just barely in the dark outside the Venn between streetlights, but I could see him clearly. “You’re not just my friend for one hour a weekday. I don’t want to shut you out of my life, and I didn’t mean to imply that I would. Want that.”

“It’s _your_ life,” I said.

“And I don’t want to keep you out of it,” he said. “We’re friends. Like I wouldn’t tell Sam or Nat or Thor or anyone else that I never want to see them in my everyday life, because it’s not true, and I also don’t get to control that. I mean, I don’t think I ever want to see you in a situation where I _am_ fighting someone–”

“Same.”

“–but I also don’t want to try and keep it like it’s some secret. It doesn’t feel right,” he said like I never piped up. “I don’t want to act like I’m keeping you out of my life.”

I shrugged. “There are a lot of facets to your life.”

“And you’re one of them.” He smiled slightly. “One of three very boring facets, if I let you tell it.”

“Nah. We’re friends,” I said. “I’d totally lie and say you have two other facets. Exciting ones.”

“You’d do that for me?” he asked, with only a slightly fake lilt to his voice and a half-hearted grasp at his chest. He dropped his hands. “We must be best friends then.”

“Maybe we are,” I said. “Congratulations, my only friend, on finally making the status of ‘best friend.’”

“The unicorn slippers are going to be very jealous, and I wear that with pride,” he said and tilted his head up. He dropped the haughty attitude though and smiled at me. “I’m not fuzzy though.”

“Everyone has their flaws,” I said somberly. I reached out to touch his chin without even thinking about it. “Though I bet if you put some work into it, you could make it happen.” I pulled my hand back like it was on fire because, fuck, invading personal space, why was I like this.

“Maybe,” he said thoughtfully. He squinted a little at me. “Are you all right?”

“I’m sorry that I just…” I made a motion like I might touch him again.

“Oh. That’s okay.” He glanced down the block. “I trust you.”

Trusted me enough to not even react when I just touched him unbidden. I wasn’t sure I was good enough with anybody for that to ever happen to me. But when he hugged me goodbye I only tensed a little at first. So…maybe someday.

“I’m glad you came out to dinner with us,” he said. “Thank you.”

In the face of such earnestness, I melted a little. “Thanks for inviting me. It was fun, and I’m glad I got to meet Sam.”

“So am I,” Steve said. “Maybe someday you’ll be willing to meet some of my other friends?”

“Maybe,” I said and took a step back towards the door. “For now, I’m going to spend some time with my second best friend.”

“Until Sam takes the spot,” Steve agreed amenably.

“I guess.” I smiled and took out my phone. “Especially now that I have his number and we can talk about you.”

Steve’s groan of disgust was even more delicious than dinner had been. “Goodnight!” I called out as one last parting shot before I slipped in the door.

His honestly sweetly sincere, “Good night,” followed in after me all the way to bed.


	12. Hiding Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve needs to lie low for...reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: A goodly amount of texting, slight talk of coming out
> 
> A/N: This will be really short, I says. I can post this by Tuesday and then technically have until the following Friday to write the next chapter, I says. I am…full of it. Buuuut I’m pretty happy with how this turned out. I’m at the point where the kinds of fics I want to write and read involve Steve Rogers having a nap, and going on vacation, and getting lots of hugs, and other nice things. I’m okay with this.

 

Steve: Can I ask a favor?

Well, if that wasn’t ominous.

Me: You finally did it  
Me: I told you not to piss off the Russian spy  
Me: But noooo  
Me: And now you need to lie low  
Me: Okay fine. But if she tracks you down I’m giving you up  
Steve: …  
Steve: Not Natasha  
Steve: But hiding out…yes. Technically.

I stared at my phone for several seconds before I realized it could not, in fact, telepathically transmit the look on my face over text. Yet. Technically I could have done a video call for that, but, well…

Me: I’ll provide snacks. You’ll provide juicy details  
Me: Get over here  
Steve: Thanks :)

Hm. Somehow that was not a self-assured smiley, but I figured I could wait until he arrived. Which he did. _Really_ quickly. And as soon as he walked in he brought a bundle of nervous energy with him– he even tried to pace, and ended up hitting his shin on my coffee table.

“Are you okay?” I asked and went to check on him.

“Damn it,” he cursed and leaned down to check on the _table_.

“Huh,” I said and stopped, because yeah, in a battle of Captain America’s shin and my flimsy piece-of-crap wood table, it was a good thing the furniture was still intact. “You know, I would be curled up in a ball and weeping for death on the floor if I did that.”

He looked around at the floor. “I don’t think there’s room for me to curl up,” he said and gave me a weak smile.

“Hm.” That was not nearly sarcastic enough. I pointed at the couch. “Sit. But…gently, please. I’m okay with having an excuse to buy a new coffee table, but I really like that couch.”

“I like the couch too. It’s comfortable,” he said and sat, but over exaggerated every single motion as he did so. I rolled my eyes, grabbed a bag of chips I didn’t mind sacrificing to the black pit that was his ridiculous metabolism, and chucked it at his face. He caught it with one hand, pulled it back to read the label, and then _recoiled_. Ungrateful. He even had the nerve to give me a look that matched his, “Seriously?”

“Try one before you start bitching at me,” I said. When he kept staring I crossed my arms. “Yes I’m serious. If you don’t like it I’ll get you a slice of plain white bread and glass of milk.” For a guy who grew up in the fucking Depression, then survived WWII, he was _awfully_ picky sometimes.

“Fine,” Steve “The Martyr” Rogers said and opened the bag. He frowned at the contents, took out a chip, and ate it. He looked thoughtful, then ate another one. And another one.

“Well?” I asked.

“I’m not sure how I feel about these,” he said, and ate another chip.

That meant the bag was lost to me, so I sat down with my drink and put a bottle of water in front of him. I cracked open my can and let him delve further into confusion even as he continued to devour it. When he took his first drink and looked more settled, I asked gently, “So…technically in hiding?”

His smile was more of a grimace, and he dusted his hands and put down the bag. “So…” he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “You know how I wanted to come out and get it over with? I asked Pepper for advice. I figured, she’s been with Tony through a lot of…through a _lot_ that, from what I understand, could have gone a lot worse than it did. I thought she would have some ideas and she did, and we had a plan, and it was a really, really good plan.”

I held back a grimace of my own. I could tell how this was going to end.

“She has a journalist friend who owed her a favor. Real nice, smart woman; the deal was she’d be the first to write about it, but Pepper and Phil had some way to kind of…bury the story, a little bit.” Steve shrugged and looked out the window. “I wasn’t really paying attention to the details. I was too nervous. But she seemed okay with it and it sounded good. It sounded like we might slip it under the radar as much as we could. I was going to be out of the country when it broke, doing something like Habitat for Humanity.”

“What happened?”

Steve fidgeted. “Someone found out something about it, so we had to release it early to get ahead of it.”

“How early?”

“About an hour ago,” Steve said, glancing at the clock. “When I got close to home I saw a couple of people loitering on the way and I sort of…panicked. I asked Natasha what to do and she told me to go somewhere safe and she’d take care of the pick-up. So…” He scratched the back of his head and forced a smile at me. “I guess now I’m going on vacation instead.”

“What a mess,” I said, trying to be sympathetic.

Instead I made Steve’s smile fall, and he let out a weak, humorless laugh. “You’re telling me.”

Geeze. _Think. Think._ There had to be some good thing in this mess, right? Coming out was, theoretically, sometimes, a nice thing. “How was it?” I asked. He quirked his head to one side. “Talking with the reporter. Was she really nice?”

“Oh yeah, she’s fantastic,” Steve said, brightening up a little. I gave myself a tiny mental pat on the back. “We talked about a lot of things. She told me about her coming out, even a little bit about transitioning and what that was like for her. She’s amazing.” His smile grew a little wistful. “I told her more than I really wanted to, about Bucky, but she let me help edit the final piece and I think it…I think it’s going to be really good. I’m glad I did it.”

“It’s just scary.”

“It is.” He bobbed his head in agreement, and took a few more chips. “And I will deal with it. I just want to deal with it in my own way. With the plan Pepper made. Hopefully.”

“Hang on,” I said and pulled out my phone. “Steve…wants to do…something…according to a set…P-L-A-N.”

“I’m really glad you and Sam are getting along so well,” Steve said in a tone that said exactly the opposite in the driest way possible.

Sam: The sky must be falling  
Sam: In all seriousness though: how is he?

“What did he say?” Steve asked suspiciously as I messaged back.

“He asked how you’re doing. I told him you’re eating chips and that if he wants to chat with you he can text you later.” I tossed my phone aside. “Now for the most important question: where are you going on vacation?”

Steve’s smile was absolutely impish. “Classified.”

“Aw come on,” I said. “I can’t remember the last time I had a vacation! Let me live vicariously.”

He ate another chip with a defiant crunch.

Like I would be so easily swayed. “Is there a beach?”

“I think I like these,” he said and went for another one, only to pull out crumbles. He peered in the bag, then pulled back and smiled sheepishly at me. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said. I tried to be casual. Calm. Detached. So naturally I was none of those things. “Hey, um…do you want to talk about what the article says, or would you rather I read it?”

Steve looked thoughtful even as he licked flavoring from his fingers. “It’s okay if you want to read it. We talked about how I first knew, what it was like for me back then…and Peggy, and Bucky.” He smiled ruefully and lowered his voice. “That was hard. Peggy said it was okay, but Bucky…” Steve glanced to the window. “I don’t know if he would be okay with it. But I think he would. I bet if– if he was here, he’d drag me over to Times Square and kiss me right in front of everyone just because he could.”

That was a nice thought. “It sounds like he’d make Pride pretty fun.”

Steve shook his head like he was trying to shake it off and lifted his head. “Hey,” he said, making his eyes big and bright and innocent. “Can you show me how to fall off cliffs in that video game again?”

Because I was nice, I didn’t throw a pillow at his face. And because I was a smartass, I followed his request to the letter, patiently explaining each step before leaping to virtual doom. He actually hit _me_ with a pillow after the first handful of times, but luckily for him even I could find that amusing for only so long. When I started getting a little creative with my rocky swan dives, Steve perked up and even started making suggestions.

As time went on though I found it hard to keep my eyes open and I started fumbling, so I passed Steve the controller so he could have a go while I shut my eyes. Just to rest them for a minute or so.

“It’s okay if you want to go to bed,” Steve said and lowered the TV volume. “I promise I won’t steal your stuff.”

I snorted but didn’t bother to open my eyes. “I know. All the food is gone.”

There was a pause long enough that I started to worry he might apologize, but eventually he said, “You knew what would happen when you gave me those chips.”

I laughed. “I did.” I leaned back against a pillow. “Don’t worry; I’m not really that tired. I’m just…fortifying myself.”

“Mm hm,” he said skeptically.

“Shut up.” He was so quiet, even when he used the shoulder buttons they barely clicked. “I’m a good host.”

“You are,” he chuckled, low and quiet. “The best.”

 

I woke up in bed, with slight sun against my curtains and the covers pulled over me. I stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, then sighed.

“I’m a terrible host,” I grumbled and sat up so I could go hunt down my phone. Before I could get up though I found it– plugged in on my nightstand, next to a folded piece of paper with my name on it. The script was beautiful; incongruous with the flimsy lined sheet obviously torn from my notebook on the desk. I opened it.

_I hope you don’t mind I put you to bed, but just looking at how you were on the couch made my neck hurt ;)_

He had actually written the semi-colon-end-parentheses smiley face. “Fucking dork,” I said to myself with a stupid smile on my own face. Whatever; he couldn’t see it.

_Jokes aside– thank you for letting me stay over. I appreciate it more than you know. It’s nice to have one place where I feel safe_.

If he was trying to get out of trouble, it was…working. Damn it.

_I’m sorry I have to run without saying goodbye, but I’m sure it’s better than waking you up when you’re sleeping so well. I’m sorry for being so boring– the snores are a bit much, but message received. I’ll try to keep you awake next time ;)_

He had to have written those stupid sideways faces just to mess with me. Criticize a man’s inappropriate emoji usage once and the bastard never let you forget it, apparently.

_Seriously though, thank you. Maybe I’ll invite you over for snacks next time. I owe you._

_Sincerely,  
Steve_

_PS: Pepper wanted to know if you’d be comfortable with her having your number just in case. I said I’d ask._

Well, that was sweet. I picked up my phone.

Me: I’m sorry I’m the worst host.  
Me: Also it’s okay to give your friend my #  
Me: Also also you were joking about the ‘you being boring’ thing right?  
Me: I know you’re probably joking but I want to make sure  
Me: It’s not you it’s definitely me  
Me: Hm  
Me: No response  
Me: You’re probably sleeping  
Me: Sorry  
Me: Oh wait  
Me: No I’m not  
Me: I do NOT snore

 

Some hours later my phone buzzed and I picked it up, expecting to see Steve’s name. Instead it was a new number I didn’t recognize and I went in to check what kind of spammy nonsense I was getting now.

(Unknown): Hello, this is Pepper Potts.

It took me a few seconds to remember and oh, yeah.

Pepper: I hope you don’t mind texting. Steve said you would be fine with it.

I smiled. Good job, Steve.

Me: Don’t worry; I prefer it actually  
Pepper: I’m the same way :)  
Pepper: I just wanted to thank you for being there for Steve.  
Pepper: It’s always comforting to know he has more good friends looking out for him.

That was…shockingly touching.

Me: Same  
Me: Thank you for helping him with all of this  
Pepper: Of course.  
Pepper: We’re both here for him in our own ways.  
Pepper: If you ever need anything, let me know. I’ll be happy to help.  
Pepper: Unfortunately I have a meeting to get to now. Take care.

That gave me a momentary heart attack, until I checked the calendar and reassured myself it was in fact Saturday. Poor woman.

Me: Thank you. Good luck with your meeting.

Then, as though he knew I was weakened by politeness, Steve popped up.

Steve: It’s okay, your snoring is cute  
Steve: And yes, I know you weren't bored. I was joking

And a winky emoji. Of course.

Me: How’s the hotel room?  
Me: Is it super luxurious?  
Me: Is there an outdoor shower to get all the sand off?  
Steve: It’s nice  
Steve: Nondescript  
Me: OH COME ON  
Me: Give me SOMETHING  
Me: A pretty sunset?  
Me: I just talked to Pepper, she’s nice  
Me: There’s no way she stuffed you in a Motel 6

Three winky faces. That dick. It was a good thing he wasn’t around to hear me laugh or else I’d have been doomed. I flipped over to my last conversation with Sam and reassured myself by scrolling through our previous messages, particularly the ones where he had sent me a play-by-play of the worst day ever. We were totally that kind of friend.

Me: Sam  
Me: Steve is being mean and refusing to tell me anything about his vacation  
Me: Is it a crime to want to live vicariously?  
Me: See if he’ll tell you anything  
Me: And share it with me  
Me: Pleeeeeease  
Sam: On it

But what he sent back was a photo, taken from the shade, of Steve in swim trunks on a bright, sunny beach in front of brilliant blue water framed by palm trees. The scenery was lovely, but Steve was _beautiful_. That was weird to think, but there was no other word for it; the shot caught him mid-laugh and he just looked so…so at peace. Admittedly, I did look at the _whole_ photo and yeah, that body was ridiculous. But I kept gravitating to that smile.

Me: You’re on vacation with him?!  
Me: But wow  
Me: That’s a good pic

Sam sent back the big, wide open emoji eyes.

Me: lol  
Me: Not like that  
Me: He looks so happy  
Sam: We’re keeping him occupied  
Sam: I’ll share some of the good stuff with you  
Sam: But  
Sam: What are you willing to pay so that I don’t tell him what a softie you are?  
Me: Like he doesn’t know how weak I am  
Me: Blackmail only works on people who have dignity

I went back to Steve.

Me: Nice shorts.

I then sent a line of thumbs-up emojis (and a few stars for the patriotic yet surprisingly tasteful design), sat back, and waited.

Sam: SNITCH

I knew I wouldn’t be getting any nice vacation photos, but the trade-off felt worth it.

 

Mid-Monday morning I was re-heating my coffee in the break room and scrolling through my phone (Sam could really bitch up a storm; I loved it) when I saw Steve had sent me a couple of messages. The first and most important of those being a blurry photo taken of Steve and Sam by some unknown third party, where, while standing in waist deep water, Steve was literally _throwing_ Sam over his head, deeper into the ocean. I made the ugliest snorting sound _ever_ before I could stop myself.

Steve: Natasha said I had to send you this under pain of death  
Steve: And I like breathing more than I care about my ego

I couldn’t keep the smile off my face and I tried to come up with a good response. Unfortunately, the noise I’d made attracted the attention of K, who was chatting nearby with a couple of other people. Well, ‘unfortunately’ was the wrong word. K was actually very nice. Nerdy enough to have board game nights with some of our other co-workers. Dorky enough that she was ‘K’ because “Men in Black” was her favorite movie. Friendly enough that I knew all of this despite the only information about my co-workers I desired was ‘good to work with/avoid/will get dumb reference/always keep a paper trail.’

“Oh my god, is that a _smile_?” she teased, very good-naturedly as she and her friends came over.

“Rare, but possible,” I said and smiled politely. I put my coffee back in the microwave; it was going to need another go-round by the time I would manage to extract myself. We made some small-talk, and then–

“Did you hear Steve Rogers came out this weekend?”

Oh, right. Also a Captain America fan. And I was ninety-nine percent sure she knew that I knew Steve, and the one percent was only because she had never outright asked or said it. But boy did she like to fish for details.

However I had a different issue than that at the moment– the casual way she dropped that sentence didn’t tell me one way or another how she felt about it. And a lot of people seemed very nice up until you found out they were vaguely disgusted with your very existence, and if there was a way to politely deal with that situation I had yet to find it.

Also, this involved my _friend_. If she said shit, heads were going to roll in the pettiest, most passive-aggressive ways I could manage. “Oh?” I took my coffee out and stirred, keeping my voice even but just slightly more positive than not. “Good for him.”

She grinned, full and bright. “Isn't it _great_?!”

Fight or flight fled, and I felt tired in the wake of it as she and the other girls babbled about how much they admired him. I took a sip of my coffee and burned my tongue, but it was good.

“I just wish I could tell him how amazing he is,” she said and sighed heavily.

That made me smirk into my cup. Good cast; wrong bait. “Mmm.”

Someone came into the kitchen and called for her friend, and I snuck out with a quick “later” while they were distracted. As I went back to my desk I considered telling Steve about that conversation, but I didn’t want to ruin his relaxation by bringing up topics he was maybe trying to avoid.

I ended up sending ‘I hope you’re having a good vacation’ before I set my phone aside and got to work.

Later, when I was on my break and able to pick up my phone again, I saw he had responded at some point.

Steve: It’s been amazing  
Steve: Just what I need  
Steve: I tried surfing  
Steve: I’m sure you can imagine how that went

If fervent hopes could will something into existence then video of that _had_ to exist. It _had_ to.

Steve: But I feel good  
Steve: Coming back tomorrow, but I have some interviews set up so I probably won’t be around much for a couple of weeks, at least  
Steve: Did you see the article?

Oh boy.

Me: Saved it  
Me: Haven't read it yet  
Steve: It’s fine if you don’t want to  
Steve: I was just curious  
Steve: It came out really well; Maggie is an amazing writer  
Steve: And some of the comments were so nice

I stared at my phone and felt panic.

Me: You read the comments?!  
Steve: Vetted by Pepper  
Steve: Don’t worry, I know THAT much

I held my chest and came down from my heart attack. This man was going to _kill_ me.

Me: Good  
Me: Also my co-workers were gushing this morning about how you’re so amazing slash inspiring slash whatever  
Steve: ‘slash whatever’ huh?  
Me: As a black-hearted creature of the night I wilt in the face of relentless positivity and I tuned out for my own sanity  
Me: But people are rooting for you  
Steve: Are you rooting for me?

This kind of fishing made me want to grab the line and _yank_.

Me: Steve  
Me: I’m always rooting for you

Apparently he could also be stunned by excess positivity, because it took him almost a minute to respond.

Steve: I miss you  
Steve: Pick a lunch place you like and we’ll go when I get back  
Steve: My treat  
Me: Well  
Me: Okay  
Me: I guess it makes up for eating all my chips  
Steve: I can’t wait  
Steve: Pick something good

It was too bad he couldn’t see my face, because I felt like I could put any cartoon villain to shame. I tried to send an emoji that approximated how my expression felt.

Steve: You can’t scare me  
Steve: I’ve had eel

That was pretty decent. But I sent him a few more of that same face. And then I started looking up burger joints so I could pick out ones with misleading names. I may not have been able to take a tropical getaway, but I could still have fun.


	13. Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets hurt and everybody else has to deal with the fallout. Jerk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what the next chapter is going to be and we are continuing our trajectory for ~softness~

 

I was sitting in bed on a beautifully lazy Saturday morning when my phone rang. I glanced over, expecting to have to tell Steve that I wouldn’t be putting on real pants for anything short of the end of the world and he had to come over or nothing, but it was Sam’s name that showed up on the screen.

“Hi Sam,” I answered and paused my game.

“Hey. I’m sorry to call you like this, but I need to tell you– Steve’s fine now, but he got hurt pretty bad.”

I put down the controller and felt a cold something creep through my body. “How bad?”

“He’ll recover just fine,” Sam said. “But some of his injuries–” He inhaled sharply and I gripped my comforter so hard my hand hurt. “Last I heard, he was still in a medically induced coma, but they were planning to take him out of it soon. It’s actually kind of a good thing though; he was hurting really bad and nothing they did was helping.”

“Because pain meds don’t do shit for him,” I said and held my face. How bad was _that_ bad?

“Yeah,” Sam said, sounding regretful. “I had to get back to DC so I couldn’t stay, but he was doing a lot better when I left. Stable, and on his way to healing up. He’s going to be okay.”

Sure, right, yeah; aside from maybe almost dying before I knew anything about it. Not that I was important enough to know– I was just a friend– but… “Do you think they’d let me visit?”

“I think so. There are SHIELD agents keeping watch but…have you met Natasha yet?”

“No. I’ve met Pepper?”

“She might be able to help if you need it.” He sighed. “I’m sorry I can’t be there.”

Me too, but that was selfish. “Don’t worry Sam, I’ll figure it out. Thanks for letting me know.” I looked at my closet. “Fair warning though– when he’s out of the woods and I stop being freaked out, I’m gonna kick his ass.”

“Nat has dibs I think. He was covering her from an explosion.”

“Fine,” I said. “But if she doesn’t do a good enough job, I’ve got second dibs.”

“I’m not contesting that,” he chuckled. “I gotta go. I’m sleeping on my feet.”

“Are _you_ okay?”

“Don’t worry; I’ll take a nap.”

“Sam.”

“I’ll be fine when I get a chance to sleep for three days. And I’m going to, I _promise_ you that.”

I didn’t have time to nag. “You better. Bye Sam.” As soon as I hung up I jumped out of bed, put on real pants, grabbed some essentials, and bolted out the door so fast I got halfway down the hall before I realized I had to go back and lock it.

I spent the whole trip there panicking and trying not to panic. Sam said he was going to be fine, so Steve was fine, right? But he was in a hospital, and what kinds of injuries could keep Steve in a medically induced _coma_? The guy fought aliens and broke bones that healed in half the time and once stubbed his toe on the doorframe and didn’t even _flinch_.

I tried really hard to think about stubbed toes and slammed elbows rather than the myriad reasons one would be admitted to a hospital. Those thoughts carried me into the building, to the map where I could find his wing, and over and into said wing, up until I almost ran into someone. I pulled back to get around them. “I’m so sorry; I–”

They put themself right back in my path and I jerked back to see not just one but _two_ very imposing, militarily inclined men. “Uhhhh….”

“This area is off-limits to unauthorized visitors,” one of them said.

Right; the SHIELD guys keeping watch. “I’m here to see Steve Rogers,” I said and told them my name in vain hopes I might be on a list or something.

The first guy, a sandy blond who looked like he wanted to drop-kick me out the window, shook his head. “Authorized personnel only. The Avengers probably have an address for _fans_ to send well-wishes.”

Even though they had no reason to know who I was, I bristled at his snide tone. “I’m not a fan; I’m his friend.”

The other guy– dark hair, looked like a washed-up TV action star– _snorted_ and he shared a look with the other guy that very clearly said what they thought of me.

“Ma’am,” Blond said. “Please leave or you will be escorted out.”

I felt sick. Steve was hurt and I couldn’t see him and the embarrassment of being seen as some sort of gross hanger-on was almost too much. Almost. I was too worried to be completely mortified, but I still had no recourse. They were dicks, but they were doing their jobs, and for the moment Steve was…safe. I turned, intending to text Pepper and wait in the cafeteria until she could help me (and maybe get a dusty bagel to help soak up the misery), when I almost smacked right into Tony Stark.

What a day.

“I’m– sorry,” I said lamely and moved aside to get around him.

“Who are you?” he asked.

I sighed and told him my name. “I’m a fr–”

“You’re Cap’s little lunch friend,” he said. He knew who I was? Stark waved a hand. “Pepper and Rogers have mentioned you. Well, Pepper mentioned; it feels like Cap brings you up all the time. You going in to visit?”

“I was going to, but–”

“Chickened out?”

“Not allowed, apparently,” I said and jabbed my thumb in the direction of the gargoyles. At least the assholes pretended to be more professional then and stopped snickering, but even Tony Stark (aka Iron Man) peering expectantly at them from the top of designer sunglasses just made knockoff-Stallone shake his head.

“No unauthorized visitors allowed,” he repeated.

“Oh come on; what’s Cap going to say when he finds out you chased off his BFF?”

They looked at me like they still didn’t believe it for a second. Blond said, “I’m sure Captain Rogers will understand we’re just doing our jobs.”

The worst part was that they were right, damn it.

“What does she need? A note from home?” Stark waved his hand. “I can write one; who has paper. We still do paper sometimes, right?”

“She needs _proper_ authorization,” the guy on the right _sneered_.

“Consider this authorization.”

We all jumped at the sudden appearance of a man in a suit, whose calm smile made him look like the dictionary definition of ‘mild mannered.’ The two guards, however, stood very rigidly at attention. “Sir.”

The new man said my name and extended his hand. “I’m Phil Coulson.”

I shook his hand and introduced myself properly. “I’m sorry but– am I allowed to–”

“You can visit Captain Rogers whenever you like,” Phil Coulson said and looked right at the guards. “Understood?”

“Yes sir,” they said, much less enthusiastically than their initial acknowledgement to him.

“Not that Captain Unblemished is going to be here that long, but hey.” I suddenly had a small bouquet of flowers in my hands, thanks to Tony Stark. “Since you’re allowed all-access now, can you give these to Cap? I’ve got things to do.”

“Uhh, sur–”

“Thanks, nice meeting you, etcetera et al,” Stark said and left with a dramatic turn.

Somehow I had imagined a little more mocking, maybe a few accusatory points about me ruining some of his fun in poking at Steve, but the guy seemed…annoyed. And not necessarily with me. I turned my head to Coulson, who only shook his. “This last assignment got…complicated,” he said and opened his arm towards the hall. Understatement, but at least I was finally going to get to see Steve. The two… _gentlemen_ …parted, and my second savior (wait until I told Steve who the first was) walked with me.

“He’s right in here,” Phil– Coulson– Phil Coulson said, standing next to an open door with no room number. The inside was very dimly lit, and the curtain drawn halfway over the door blocked the bed from sight, but I felt less like a tension rod.

“Thank you, Mr. Coulson,” I said. “I’m sorry if I caused problems.”

“It was no problem for me, and there won’t be more for you,” he said like it was a promise. “And please, Phil is fine. I was on my way out earlier and I’m afraid I still have to go, but it was nice to finally meet you. Hopefully next time we’ll see each other under better circumstances.”

“Yeah, next time. Thank you,” I said and stepped in.

It was so quiet, and mostly dark, aside from a single light off in the corner. Steve was very still in the bed, bruised and bandaged, but I could see his chest moving. He looked roughed up, but he didn’t look comatose. He didn’t even look like he had come close to death. He just looked like he was sleeping.

I set the flowers down on the nearest flat surface and walked slowly, quietly, to the chair next to his bedside, and perched on the edge of it. I wasn’t sure, at first, if I should stay– he was sleeping; was this creepy?– but the more I looked at him the more I settled in. One of his arms was completely wrapped up; there was a bruise on his jaw, closer to his neck than his chin; a strip of stitches on his neck; one, two, three, four, five scratches that I could see, plus a patch of skin that was raw, like it had rubbed against concrete. He didn’t look as bad as I’d expected him to, which I assumed meant all the terrible things had happened on the inside.

But he was breathing. He wasn’t even on oxygen; nothing about the machines around him said he was in dire straits. With a little bit of makeup he could have looked like a hospital patient in a Hallmark movie, ready to wake up and be released at any moment.

But he had been hurt. He had been hurt badly enough that it was a blessing he had been out for the healing process. I didn’t know why I hated that idea so viscerally, but it made _me_ want to punch something.

I sighed. A small tuft of hair hung at a weird angle over his forehead and I brushed it back into place. Then, just to reassure myself, I let my hand hover over his mouth and felt a warm, steady pulse of air.

“They took him out of it earlier.”

I jumped so hard I hit my feet and had to windmill so as not to crash into one of the monitors. Miraculously, I didn’t knock anything over or otherwise make a lot of noise, and Steve didn’t show any signs of waking. Once I was done with my quiet heart attack, I turned to face the woman standing at the end of the bed. She had red hair and eyes sharp enough to cut. I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly who she was.

“Uh…hi,” I said and forced my hand down, away from my heart and to my side. I told her my name and waited for her to finish looking me over.

“Natasha Romanoff,” she said.

Yup. “It’s nice to meet you,” I said. “Steve says a lot of good things.”

She barked a laugh. “Did Rogers pay you to say that?”

That was surprisingly harsh, so I kept quiet. I was batting a thousand today. But she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry.” She straightened out and looked completely composed. Neat trick. “It’s been a long week.”

“I bet,” I said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She moved her eyes to Steve and frowned. “Annoyed, but that’s not fatal.”

“Yeah, I’d have been dead a long time ago if it was,” I said and shrugged. “But I also would have taken a few jerks out with me, so…win some, lose some, I guess.”

She made a small noise that was neither this way nor that and I shut my mouth before I could embarrass myself further. She walked around to his other side. “Who called you?”

“Sam.”

“Did he tell you what happened?”

“Not…exactly,” I said. I didn’t really want to tell her because I wasn’t sure her current sense of humor would allow for me to fake-threaten our mutual friend, but she looked at me so hard I got my bank information and social security number ready to go just in case she wanted them. “I got upset and made a joke about having dibs on kicking Steve’s ass when he’s better. Sam said actually you had it first since Steve was covering you in some explosion?”

Her lips pressed tight for a moment as she stared at Steve. “He didn’t have to.”

“But he’ll probably argue it when he gets up.” I looked at him. “He’s a jerk like that.”

“Yes. He really is,” Natasha said. She started to reach for him, but then abruptly stepped back. “I’m– I can’t deal with him yet.” She started to leave, but stopped at the edge of the curtain. “Are you staying for a while?”

“I think so.” I pulled out my book to show her and set it on my lap. “I don’t really have much else to do today.”

She nodded curtly. “Good. The rest of us do, but Steve…he doesn’t have the best reaction to waking up in medical. It’ll be better if he has a friend.”

I couldn’t imagine anyone having a great reaction to waking up alone, in a hospital, after almost dyi– “I’m on it,” I said before I could delve too deep into those thoughts.

“Thank you,” she said with a brief burst of warmth that almost made her seem like someone else. Then she was back to being aloof. “I’m sure I’ll see you later.”

I didn’t even have time to say “Bye” before the curtain swooshed behind her and settled into place like she was never there.

 

It was a couple of hours before Steve began to stir, and I had only left my seat to stand up and stretch a few times. I didn’t know he was awake at first, until I saw part of the pillow shift, and I put my book on my lap to find him staring at me. Drowsily, but definitely staring.

“Hi.” He squinted and frowned. “Am I dreaming?”

I snorted and put my bookmark in before I set the book on the table. “No. I’m pretty sure your subconscious isn’t that mean to make my face the first one you see.”

He frowned deeper. “My subconscious definitely isn’t that mean to _you_.”

“Hey, I call it like I see it.” I leaned in closer. We were both quiet, and I was content to stay that way. “I’ve been looking up photos and your teammates are pretty. I mean, Sam alone would be a good sight.”

“Sam is very handsome,” he agreed so easily it made me smile. “But it’s not so bad to wake up to you. Not bad at all.”

“Do they have you on pain meds?” I asked.

He shrugged, and winced as he did so. “Doubt I could tell if they did. I don’t hurt as much anymore, though.”

“Good. That’s good.” I swallowed. “I’m glad you're okay.”

He got a small smile. “Soft.”

“Only right now. You scared the shit out of me.”

Steve lost his smile and opened his eyes wider. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault, it’s just…” It felt like my throat swelled, so I took a second to try and compose myself.

But Steve was alert now and sat up. “Hey, no; come here.”

I didn’t quite know what he meant, until I saw his arms open and, well, why not. I couldn’t help but glance at the door but there was no new noise and nobody I could see, and I leaned in to hug him as gently as I could. He wrapped his arms around me, warm and breathing and feeling like normal. “I’m okay. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“You scared a lot of people,” I said and stayed there until his grip loosened and I could pull back. “But since I’m selfish, yeah; mostly me.”

He smiled weakly and squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry you had to find out.”

“I’m not,” I said. “I’m glad; I…I guess maybe it’s weird for you that I’m here–”

“It’s not,” he said. “It’s definitely not. I’m just sorry I upset you.”

“It’s an upsetting thing.” I shrugged. “Emotions. They kind of suck.”

“Sometimes,” he said. Someone knocked on the door and we both looked when someone came in. I winced as the lights were turned on, but I suddenly realized Steve had still been holding my hand up until that point, when he released it to rub his eyes.

“Oh, sorry Captain,” the doctor said and she smiled at me. “I didn’t realize you had a visitor.”

“Oh, hi Dr. Sherazi,” Steve said, sounding a little brighter. He introduced me to her and we shook hands. I was getting a little tired by all the new people, but I tried not to let it show too much. Steve was worse off; I could be okay for him.

“When I said don’t be a stranger this isn’t quite what I meant,” she said and started checking monitors. When she turned to me, face already expressing apologies, I knew what was coming and I looked at Steve.

“Go home.” He reached out and touched my arm. “I’ll be okay.”

And I didn’t hide myself that well, apparently, because he gave me a Look that said he knew I’d rather be gone. I wasn’t sure whether to feel bad about that or not. “Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yeah. I’m going to call Sam and after that I’ll probably be besieged by people wanting to yell at me.” He cringed. “I…don’t want _anyone_ to see that, really.”

I nodded because I didn’t want to be obnoxious, but after I packed up I asked him, “Is it okay if I come back tomorrow? I don’t– I don’t have any plans, really; but it’s okay if you don’t…”

“I’d like that,” he said and opened one arm. I hugged him one more time and took a real breath for the first time since that phone call.

 

The next day I pre-planned my morning and set off with a few extra supplies. I stopped by a pastry shop on the way and stood in a long line to get a drink for me, fill a thermos for Steve, and buy a few treats which I shoved in my bag with his tightly-lidded coffee. When I got to the hallway and saw the same two guards I braced myself, but they looked resigned when they saw me.

“We apologize for the misunderstanding yesterday,” the dark-hair one said and his partner muttered something similar. “And for our reactions; it was uncalled for.”

I tried to smile as brightly as I could. “It’s okay; I can be a bitch sometimes too so, hey, kindred spirits,” I joked.

He frowned. Deeply. My smile fell. “It was a– I was just kidding; I meant–” I sighed and gave up when his face didn’t change. “I’m sorry,” I said and left.

Steve looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when I came in and threw the curtain back into place behind me. “Even when I try to be nice I fucking suck at it,” I said and dumped my bag on the chair.

“Good morning to you too,” Steve chuckled and put his fork down. “What happened?”

I opened my mouth and stopped. He looked normal, healthy, but he was still in a hospital bed. “Don’t worry about it,” I said and put my drink on the side table so I could rifle through my bag. “Here,” I said and handed him the thermos.

“You're my _favorite_ ,” he said fervently and took it.

That made me smile again. Pretty big, too. “Also here,” I said and put the two white bags on his tray. “This place didn’t have strawberry so I got you a chocolate and a plain croissant.”

“You’re my favorite person _ever_ ,” he said and pushed the hospital’s plates aside so he could dig in.

“Yeah, yeah; eat it before someone else walks in. I didn’t bring enough to share.” I was the _best_. My smile was almost painful, but luckily Steve was too distracted to notice while I wrestled it under control. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. The burns are gone.” He held up his arm to show me skin instead of gauze.

“I guess you’re not going to be the mummy for Halloween.”

“No, but I could be Frankenstein’s monster maybe.” He extended his neck to show me the scar where his stitches had been.

“Tch.” I sat back. “It’ll be gone in a few days.”

“Like nothing ever happened,” he quipped, _too_ lightly, but that was an issue I didn’t know how to tackle.

“Except for my new blood pressure medication from the heart attack you gave me.”

“Were you that worried?” he asked jokingly.

“Yes,” I said. He went silent and stopped eating. “Looks like I’m not the only one who doesn’t know how to deal with actual concern.”

“I could learn,” Steve said with a softer smile.

“You’ll need to with friends like yours,” I said. “They were all pretty worried.”

He shrugged. “Most.”

Maybe– I hadn’t met all of them– but I was pretty sure I knew who he meant. “I don’t think I would have been allowed in without Tony Stark’s help when he came to visit,” I said. Steve’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “There are some SHIELD guys making sure not just anybody can come in and some random chick claiming to be your friend naturally didn’t make the cut. But when I was about to leave, Tony Stark came up on his way in and made it a thing until Phil Coulson came by and said I could be here.”

“Oh,” Steve said. “I’ll have to thank Tony.”

“Me too, but I’m trying to figure out how,” I said. “I’m thinking the cheesiest fucking card I can find but I don’t think he’d get that I’m joking. That would be awkward.”

Steve smiled. He was about to say something but I caught sight of the book in his lap and I jerked to attention as I suddenly remembered. “I brought you books!” I said and got them out to hand to him. “Just in case you get bored. I almost forgot.”

“Thank you,” he said, laughing, and set them aside. “Did you ‘just remember’ because you know I was going to say something sincere?”

Huh. “No, but wow, I got lucky.”

“Steve, you’ve got to get some friends that _aren’t_ emotionally constipated.”

We both looked to the doorway to see a man with two butterfly bandages on his cheek, a smudge of dirt on his throat (in blatant contrast to his obviously recently washed hair), and a bouquet of flowers in his hands. The price sticker was still on the cellophane wrapping and I snorted at the sight. Perfectly coifed spies and billionaires were something else. This guy was an unmistakable disaster. I could handle that.

“But then how would he relate?” I asked as the man came over to give Steve a hug and place his flowers next to the set from Tony Stark.

“I’m way better with my emotions than you are,” Steve said, looking at me as his friend stood up.

“That’s like saying you’re taller than the ground,” I said. His friend laughed and I…took a _little_ pride in that; sue me. Steve then introduced me to Clint Barton.

“Hawkeye,” Clint said and grinned wolfishly. “But if you don’t know who _Captain America_ is then I’ve got no chance.”

I glared at Steve. “You _told_ people about that?”

“It’s funny,” he said, his smirk nearly matching Clint’s grin for deviousness alone.

But Clint’s face fell when he sniffed the air. “Hey,” he said. “It smells like chocolate in here.”

“She brought me a chocolate croissant,” Steve said.

“Aw.” Clint deflated.

“Yeah, it’s all gone. Sorry,” Steve said.

Clint narrowed his eyes. “You're not sorry at all, are you?”

“Nope,” Steve said cheerfully.

Clint looked at me and jerked his thumb in Steve’s direction. “ _This_ guy.”

“Yup, he’s an asshole,” I agreed. I looked at Steve. “But for some reason we like him anyway.”

“For some reason.”

Natasha was apparently the queen of sneaky entrances, but I didn’t jump this time. She was a little steely, until she saw me looking, and then she gave me a real smile and greeted me with a hello.

Maybe she was like a shark waiting to bite, but I hadn’t done anything wrong, so I smiled back. “Hello Natasha.”

“How are you?”

“Oh, I’m all right. You?”

“I’m much better, thank you.”

“I don’t like this,” Clint said, creeping towards the door.

“You two have…met?” Steve asked, not taking his eyes away from Natasha. Smart.

“Briefly,” Natasha said.

She and Steve stared each other down and I looked around but Clint was gone. Oh. I looked at them. “Should I leave?”

Steve opened his mouth. “Please,” Natasha said politely, without looking at me. “We won’t be long.”

“Okay.” I stood up and left my bag at the chair, but I hesitated. However the way they looked at each other– Natasha ready to strike and Steve ready to defend– made this completely out of my league. I slipped out the door and shut it behind me.

“Oh geeze,” Clint said.

I sighed and stared at the door. I didn’t hear anything, but that wasn’t necessarily good. “I can’t believe I was so worried about him almost dying only to lose him like this. Unfair.”

Clint patted my shoulder consolingly.

But only a couple of minutes passed before Natasha opened the door, and she wasn’t covered in blood. That seemed like a good sign. Then again, strangling someone wouldn’t cause a whole lot of blood loss. I couldn’t help but peek in first and Clint did the same, but while Steve looked a little stunned, he was still alive.

“Wow,” I said and went back to my seat.

“I have excellent self-restraint,” she said and leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. “At least we finally got to meet _you_.” Her tone dipped into teasing. “Steve has been so _sly_ , stealing away all the time for his lunch dates.”

Steve turned red and ducked down. “Come on, Nat.”

“Not very sneaky are you?” I said, even though it was true.

“No, he really isn’t.” Natasha’s lips were tinged with amusement. “But I hear you’re pretty direct yourself.”

I shrugged. “Guilty.” I looked elsewhere. “I don’t have the best filter.”

“You’re fine,” Steve said.

Maybe, but most likely not really. He was probably just being nice to me because I had fallen to pieces the day before. I cleared my throat and sat back when I realized I was leaning close to Steve. I could do this; I could make nice with his friends. I hoped. “By the way Natasha, thanks for that photo of Steve chucking Sam into the water. It’s my desktop background.”

“It’s _what_?!”

I ignored Steve and so did Natasha, but Clint laughed. Natasha smiled. “I’m glad you appreciated it. It is one of my favorite photos I’ve ever taken.”

I realized something then and dared to get my hopes up. “Steve. Surfing. Is there video?”

“Of course” and “Of course not” came in unison from Natasha and Steve respectively, and he whipped his head in her direction so fast I heard his neck crack.

“Natasha,” he pleaded.

“That’s very valuable blackmail though,” she told me. “I have stories that would unseat politicians I’d charge less for.”

“How much to peek at stills?”

“I’m sure your job is lovely, but it’s still probably more than you make.”

“A recounting of the experience?”

“Hmm…how detailed?”

“I’ll take subject-verb-object at this point.”

“Steve surfed wave.” Her lips curled devilishly. “Wave surfed Steve.”

“ _Two_ sentences?” I gasped.

“Well, I like you,” she said.

“Hey Clint,” Steve said. “Do me a favor and tell the doc I want those experimental pain meds she was trying to talk me out of. Or just, anything that makes me unconscious so I don’t have to hear Nat get sweet-talked into giving up that video.”

“Wow, you really do believe in me,” I said. “It’s okay though, my imagination can take it from here.”

Steve’s mouth screwed downwards. “I have no friends. Everyone I love is dead to me.” He looked thoughtful. “Or dead.”

That was so delightfully dark it shocked me into laughter, and Clint too by the sound of it. Natasha, however, punched him so hard he actually said “Ow!” and rubbed his arm.

I stayed with them for a couple of hours, until my patience began to fray and I started checking the clock. Not that Natasha and Clint weren't great (I might have fallen a little in love with her when she made a “Die Hard” joke so wonderfully dumb that _Clint_ got caught up in a groan while he laughed) but I was just…getting tired. Before I could attempt some pathetic excuse, though, my phone buzzed and I pulled it out.

Pepper: You might want to warn Steve that Tony is on his way.

“Oh boy,” I said and fired off a quick ‘thanks.’ When I looked up they were all staring at me, and I looked at Steve to get my grounding. “Pepper just said Tony Stark’s on his way.”

“‘Oh boy’ is right.” Steve grimaced. “You should probably go before he gets here.”

I hesitated, because that seemed a little crappy, however…I knew my limits. “Yeah, I– I don’t think I have the energy for him.”

“Don’t worry.” Natasha took a seat. “We’ll supervise.”

“Aww,” Clint said, but he showed absolutely no sign of moving. How someone could lean almost 180 degrees in a chair that was very solidly 90 degrees (if not less) and even pretend to look comfortable I had no idea, but more power to him.

I packed up and stopped to hug Steve. He held me a little longer than I expected. “Don’t worry; I’ll be out by tonight,” he said and let go. “And as soon as I’m done with debriefs, I’ll let you know. I still owe you lunch.”

“So you better stick around.” I stood. “I’ll collect. Someday.”

“I won’t hold my breath on that one,” he said.

I held my heart and looked in Clint and Natasha’s direction. “He’s _learning_.”

I got a pillow to the face, but Natasha got a new cushion. And while Steve may have been annoyed…he was okay. And he was going to continue to be okay.

Win-win.


	14. Thankful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve spends the holiday with his grumpy friend. His grumpy friend realizes something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Why does this start at Halloween and end around Thanksgiving’ well unfortunately Thanksgiving was when I always imagined a certain part taking place and I don’t want to stretch this out for another two months. It feels right to have this here, chapter-wise. So without further ado… (ノ✧ ω ✧)ノ*✲ﾟ*

 

“Wow.”

“Huh.” Steve put his controller down and changed the channel. “I thought you’d be more upset.”

“You wrecked me in the most convoluted way possible,” I said. “I can’t be mad. That was stupid impressive.”

“Thanks,” he said and sat back. “And thanks again for saving me from Tony’s costume party.”

“I didn’t save you; I just invited you to my party first.”

Steve looked around the room. “Do two people count as a party?”

“I’m sorry; where can I find the requirements to call something a party? Are they online? Maybe there’s a National Party Registry where I can–”

Steve shoved some popcorn at my face and I smacked him away, but I still had to dig some of it out of my shirt. Steve was, at least, decent enough to get the ones off the floor.

“ _Point being_ – there’s food, there’s fun, and if you don’t like it you can go and I will party by myself,” I said and turned my nose up at him.

“Touchy,” Steve chuckled and ate the pieces he had dropped. Well, the floor was clean enough. He added, “I am having fun though. Thank you.”

“Hm.”

“All I said was ‘ _thank you_.’”

“Yeah, too sappy; I’d rather you go back to dumping popcorn down my shirt.”

His face turned red. Too easy. “I did _not_.”

“Did too.”

“Nope.”

I had the popcorn in my hand and, well, if life gave you kernels… “Oh, okay then. Here,” I said and held it out to him.

He, of course, recoiled. “No; you eat it.”

“I don’t want it,” I said and kept going. He scooted away like I had cooties, so I scooted closer until he was up against the arm of the couch. Short of leaping off of it he wasn’t getting away from me. “Come on; _eat it_.”

“No!” he said and shielded his face with his arm.

“Why not? If it didn’t go down my shirt then it must be perfectly fine,” I said and leaned over him.

Steve apparently disagreed, and we tussled. The fact that we pushed back and forth meant he was seriously holding back but it was funny, especially when I managed to drop the popcorn on him and he snapped. Gently, but I ended up on my back on the couch with him pressing down on my arms. Again, lightly, but he was making real sure I couldn’t get that popcorn back (wherever it had gone).

“You are such a wuss,” I said, still laughing.

“And you’re gross,” he chuckled.

“Hey.” I frowned. “I shower. I shower more often than I clean the floor.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t mean you were dirty, I–” He stared down at me, like he was realizing where I was for the first time, and he jerked away off of me– and the couch– like I was fire.

It happened so quickly I didn’t know what the hell to make of it. “Are you okay?” I asked and slowly sat up.

“Are _you_?”

That didn’t clarify why he wouldn’t even look at me. “I’m okay. Why–” Oh. Was _that_ it? “You didn’t hurt me, if that’s what you’re worried about?”

He looked blank for a second, but then– “Yes. That.” He sat back down on the other end (on the very, very edge) of the couch. “I forget sometimes, how…strong I am.”

He still sounded weird in a way that made me wonder if I was missing something, but I sat up and gave him the space he apparently needed. Even watching TV felt awkward. At least, at first, until an unfortunately familiar image flashed on the screen. Awkward mood or not didn’t stop me from gagging when that _stupid_ fucking turkey commercial came on.

“Not a fan of Thanksgiving?” Steve asked dryly as I raced to change the channel.

“I like Thanksgiving fine, I just hate that fucking nightmare mascot,” I said and sat back, safe now with c-level horror nonsense. “Also I’m tired of holidays creeping on other holidays. Stay in your month.”

Steve laughed a little and as much as I hated it, I had to be thankful (ugh) to that awful commercial for breaking the weird tension. “Thanksgiving is okay though,” I said. “Terrible history, but I get two days off and an excuse to gorge myself. What’s not to like about that?”

“Are you going anywhere?”

“Nah. There’s a place I usually order from. I’ll get some good food, put something on the TV, and just dick around for the day.”

He smiled and nodded, like that was exactly what he had expected from me. Well, I never claimed to be super unpredictable. “What are you going to do for it?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged and looked genuinely troubled. “Everybody else is pretty busy this year. I’ll probably just…do what I normally do. Where do you order from?”

Interesting. My plans were something I liked but it figured he wouldn’t be thrilled with that– he liked people, and being around people. I wasn’t the best company…but I was people. And Steve, somehow, always managed to be an exception to my rule.

“Hey,” I said. “Why don’t you come over?”

He looked a little stunned. “No, that’s– it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will,” I said. “But we hang out all the time and Thanksgiving is boring, if for no reason other than traveling is kind of a pain in the ass.” Admittedly I hadn’t really cared before the _one_ time I’d needed to get to Manhattan, but I doubted I would ever forgive Macy’s for that nightmare. And Steve had to get around there sometimes, so maybe he found it annoying too. “We can order a lot of food together and just sit and eat and do what we’re doing now. And if Tony gets snide you can tell him you have plans.”

“I tend to make sure I do have plans,” he said and ran his hand through his hair. “Volunteering, mostly; there’s always something that needs to be done and I’ve got the time, so why not me? And it’s good, but maybe…” He looked up and stared at the wall like there was something worth considering. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have the day off.”

I was maybe too happy about winning that little debate, but hey, at least I had won _something_ that night. Later, after having insisted that he could see himself out while I was too drowsy to argue, (the jerk), I tried to cement our plans. In my own way.

“Hey Steve?”

He stopped. I leaned on the arm of the couch to stretch out my back. “If anybody asks why you're not at a soup kitchen or any of that bullshit,” I said, “Just tell ‘em that you know someone who was gonna be real lonely at Thanksgiving and begged you for company. Clinging, crocodile tears– the works.”

It got a smile and a chuckle out of him, but he also looked mildly offended. He gave me a wry smile and said, “Soup kitchens aren’t bullshit.”

“They’re not,” I agreed. “But the idea that you don’t deserve a day off with the rest of us is. You do a lot, Steve. If you want to take care of anyone else, you have to take care of yourself too.”

He looked hesitant. I cleared my throat. “And there’s no better way to do that than to slip into a food coma.”

He laughed– so loud it surprised us both. His smile was easier when he said, “I’ll take your word for it.”

“You’ll get to test it out, actually,” I said. “I’ll bring a menu around sometime this week and as soon as we sort out food I’ll place the order.”

“Sounds great.” He slung his pack over his shoulder. “Good night.”

 

Picking the food was easy enough. Mostly. Steve thought he was more boring than he actually was and I made a mental note of some of the things he looked at the weirdest that I knew he would end up stealing if I gave him a chance. He also wanted to figure out how much the food would be so he could give me the money right away, but when he insisted on calculating out the ratio of portion sizes to price I checked my watch and gave up.

“Oh my god; if you make me do this much math on my _break_ I’m going to make you pay for all of it,” I groaned into my hand.

“Okay!” Steve replied, blatantly unbothered by the idea.

I opened my mouth to argue but then I thought about the energy it would take, and the smug look currently on his face, and how much did I really care about any of this? “Fine,” I said, to his obvious surprise. “I’m hosting, and actually getting the food, so you can take care of paying for it. We’ll call it ‘The Asshole Tax.’”

“We’re not calling it that,” he said, but he was sort of smiling. Because he was totally okay with being an asshole. So I ripped a page out of my notebook, wrote down the total, titled it ‘Asshole Tax,’ and dropped it in front of him as I stood to pack and leave.

“That is a lot of food,” he said, frowning at the menu as I stowed it away. “Maybe I should go get it too.”

“Do you want to explain to some random cashier why you’re picking up food under my name?” I asked. He frowned further and I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered. In the meantime–” I shook my drink and took a sip. “Enjoy your boba.”

He scowled at me but pulled his drink closer. Just before I left I heard him mutter, “Just because I like it doesn’t mean it isn’t weird.”

I rolled my eyes and walked away, already mentally doubling at least two of the dishes.

 

The weeks passed like I was living the last month of high school all over again, but finally the day came. Steve came over about noon and I gave his jeans the stink-eye, until he brought his backpack around and partially pulled out a pair of drawstring pants.

“Do I fit the dress code now?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said and let him in. “I’m not going to be the only one in my PJs, but I’m also not dressing up.”

“I know better than to ask that,” he said and narrowly dodged a swat from the spoon I had been using to stir the gravy. Pro of going with traditional food: this place made it so good. Con of going with traditional food: there was some reheating involved. Ultimately it was all worth it though. I couldn’t wait to hear what Steve thought; I really hoped he didn’t regret this.

“Go get changed,” I said and waved it threateningly. “Food’s almost all ready.”

He grinned. “Okay, but, uh…” He leaned forward. I moved back, not sure why he was suddenly so close, until he reached in and…wiped some gravy off my cheek.

“You might want to watch out for karma,” he said with that stupid fucking smile.

I chased him to the bathroom but he was too quick to slam the door on my face. I stalked back to the food and, manners be damned, started loading up my plate first. He came back in comfy pants and a too-tight t-shirt that I immediately snapped the sleeve of.

“Hey!” he said and bumped into my side.

“I’m not the one buying shirts tight enough to double as rubber bands,” I said. I gestured at the food spread out across all available counter space. “Eat up. Cold stuff is still in the fridge and snack stuff is on the coffee table.”

“This looks great.” He hugged me with one arm. “Thanks for getting it.”

“Yeah yeah, get your stuff and sit down,” I said and took my food over to my little corner of the couch. I had a blanket for me and a blanket for Steve, a selection of nonsense to watch on the TV that was _not_ parade-related, and a view of grey skies from a warm and brightly-lit apartment.

It was going to be a good day.

I even got a little vindication when I went back to the fridge to get something to drink and saw Steve very intensely eyeing a casserole he had pooh-poohed on the menu when we were picking things out. He glanced at me, glanced at the food, and I took in the sight for several seconds before telling him, “Fine, you can have half,” and before I even finished the sentence he had scooped his entire portion right onto his plate. It took up almost the whole surface. “You should trust me by now when I tell you things are good.”

“I wish I could agree with that,” he said and gave me a disapproving look.

“Hey, you said pick a lunch place and I took you to a burger joint,” I said innocently. “Sure it had a weird name, but the food was good, right?”

“You knew what you were doing,” he said, staring down at me.

I lasted about two seconds before I broke and laughed.

And the day was good. Steve was someone I could hang out with without fear, and I had only been half-joking about the dress code– because he brought clothes to lounge in, I didn’t feel self-conscious in mine. And the way he looked so enviously at my unicorn slippers even gave me an idea for a good holiday gift.

And since we were hanging out on the couch, it was natural that we gravitated closer together. Natural, but when I finally noticed just _how_ close we were, I froze up a little. Was it okay for me to–

“You can lean back if you want,” he said.

“Really?” I asked and eyed his chest.

“I’m more comfortable than I look,” he said. “Or so I’ve been told. By Natasha. And Maria. And Bruce. Even Thor, one time.”

Well, if that was an okay thing to do then I was going to do it. I felt…probably more excited than I should have, but I figured it was just nice to be so comfortable with another human being. I didn’t know if I ever had felt like this before.

But I played it cool. “Hm,” I said and lay back. He was warm, firm, and yes, surprisingly comfortable. I felt a little thrill of anxiety when he wrapped his arm around my stomach, but it was just for a moment, and then I was able to relax into him. “I can see how people say that.” I felt so good. “You’re pretty cozy.”

“An excellent commendation,” he said. I sighed, perfectly content, and shut my eyes.

 

I woke up to darkness, with only the light of the TV.

Steve shifted suddenly behind me and I jerked away, ready to apologize, when I saw his eyes were shut tight, and his motions were short and twitchy. He mumbled nonsense but his face furrowed in anguish.

“Steve.” I shook his shoulder. “Steve!”

He didn’t wake up right away. Tears actually started spilling from his eyes and at the sight of that I panicked and shook harder. “ _Steve_!”

His eyes snapped open and he jerked up and grabbed my shoulders. It didn’t hurt but I couldn’t move while he took in his surroundings. He gasped but didn’t say anything, though he did loosen his hands so he could put them to his eyes. I gently wrapped my arms around him while he rode out the shockwaves, and soon enough he put his arms around me. “I got you, Steve; it’s okay,” I whispered and rubbed his back. He clung to me and we sat just like that for a little while, until Steve’s short breathing evened out and he was able to take a deep breath.

Even still, he was reluctant to let go. “You wanna hear a secret?” I asked him, not intending to let him go until _he_ was ready.

“Sure,” he said weakly. But he relaxed and stayed right where he was.

I cleared my throat and admitted, “I think I like hugs.”

He chuckled. “The resident miser? Likes hugs?”

“I know. You can’t tell anyone,” I said. “Also, sorry if I suck at them; I’m not exactly practiced.”

“I think you’re just fine. But I’m not well-practiced either,” he said. He pressed his face into my shoulder and my stomach did a somersault. It felt so good; I wanted to wrap him up in my arms forever and–

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh _no_.

“Maybe we should practice more.” He pulled away, smiling, but that smile hit me in a different spot. Harder. “Together.”

Fucking hell. “That sounds nice,” I said before Impulse Control could kick me in the face. Because it did sound nice. It sounded so nice it would have made him uncomfortable by how much I loved the idea. I _loved_ the idea.

I loved _him_.


	15. Avoidance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thing about avoiding your problems is that you always have to face them sooner than you think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight warnings for a little bit of angsting, and it’s a little light on Steve content (though he eventually appears from afar). Anywho. I wish I could say something cool like ‘enjoy the pining!’ but I have no idea how long I can actually keep them apart considering I have been mushing two dolls together in my head and going ‘now kiss!’ since I started posting. There will be a little pining though. Like, maybe a car air freshener, at least. Enjoy!

  
 

I avoided Steve for the rest of the long weekend. It was easier than it might have been had he not been called in for something. Though we still had texting, he was busy and I didn’t instigate. Even when we did communicate, my responses were short and didn’t leave much for follow up. He probably assumed I needed time to de-socialize, because that was the kind of guy he was, sweet and caring and all good things. Meanwhile, I knew exactly why I was trying not to talk to him, and it stressed me the hell out.

I didn’t want to think about any of it and found my perfect excuse on Monday morning, when a work project made me skip lunch and go into overtime. I immediately texted Steve telling him I’d be busy for a few days and threw myself into work. Unfortunately the project was too time-sensitive and it was done before I even clocked out Tuesday afternoon.

“Okay, this definitely isn’t about money anymore,” my boss said that evening, just when he was packing up. “Do you have a spouse you’re having a fight with?”

“I’m just…looking for stuff to do. To keep me busy.” I didn’t back down when he stared at me. “Just for this week?”

He sighed heavily and rubbed his face. “Okay. Lunches and up to one hour after _if_ you spend it working on organizing the junk drive. Make real progress on cleaning that out and I’ll approve the overtime.”

That was two hours of mindless-but-incredibly-draining work that would put me at a worse commute time and make me crawl into bed at the end of the day, and hopefully completely wipe me out on the weekend.

Perfect.

“Thank you!” I said and started to bound out to get started on the one job everybody in my department passed around like it was a beach ball on fire.

“Seriously,” he said and I stopped. He stood there with his bag over his shoulder and asked, “Are you okay?”

I almost smiled, but remembered that would be out of character. “I’m fine,” I said and shrugged one shoulder. “Holidays, you know?”

It worked. For the most part. I at least had a plausible excuse to keep Steve off my back, and my boss didn’t press any further, and I made progress on the most mind-numbing task ever embarked upon by an actual human with an actual brain.

The only problem was that it wasn’t numbing enough. As much as I tried to avoid thinking about Steve at all, he was still in my phone, as was Sam, and even Clint and Natasha now too. Pepper wasn’t a very social texter, thankfully, but I kept getting pulled back to Steve in other ways. In the course of three days I: saw a tuft of blonde hair that made me do a double-take, heard his recorded laugh as I passed by someone who didn’t understand the concept of using headphones, and had to listen to a few older ladies gossip about ‘what a man’ he was in unfiltered detail. I even had a _dream_ about some of the things they said because the universe hated me, apparently.

And then there was Steve himself, not texting that much, but always taking the time to send me a little photo every day that was obviously meant to make me laugh. He even sent me the ‘ _Hang in there_ ’ kitten poster (which made me snort way too loudly in public) along with ‘I dare you to use this for your lockscreen for a month.’

I texted back, ‘What do I get for it?’ before I realized I was breaking my own goddamn rules and smashed my face into my desk.

Steve: Something good ;)

Oh god. Did he know what he was doing? If he did I wished he would have just put me out of my fucking misery already.

Steve: How’s work?

Fuck.

Me: Busy.  
Me: How’s work?  
Steve: Almost done  
Steve: I hope your job lets up this weekend  
Steve: Sam is coming back with me and we’re hoping you can come out with us

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Me: We’ll see

Work did let up. Unfortunately. I made good progress on organizing the long-forgotten junk drive and my boss repaid me and betrayed me in the same breath.

“I’ll approve the overtime,” he said. “But that’s it for now. You look exhausted and I need you to take the weekend to rest up, okay?”

It was the one and only time I had ever wished to have a bastard boss again. But I was tired, and I didn’t have any excuses. “Okay,” I said and left his office feeling miserable. I got home pretty quick for a Friday night, which just left me more time to think about things I really didn’t want to think about. And there was only one cure for that.

The club was busier than I was used to, busier than it had any right to be with the night just really beginning, but as soon as I got in I made a beeline for the bar and snaked in the first opening I could find. It was loud, and too crowded, and I really wasn’t up for this, but I didn’t know what else to do. So I started drinking.

That was a bad idea. Aside from the ‘using alcohol to try and drown your emotions’ being a baseline fucking _awful_ idea, it also didn’t fucking _work_.

Couples. They were _everywhere_. Leaning next to each others’ ears, making out along the wall, dancing together like it was foreplay; they were so all over the place that even the fake ID crowd seemed less obnoxious by comparison.

Except for when a gaggle of party girls yelled right next to me for no real reason and reminded me they really weren't. The music thumped and I winced and turned away from watching the floor to sip my drink at the bar like the true lonely miser I was.

And wasn’t that just the thing.

Loneliness, as a thing in my life, had stopped bothering me after a while– or maybe I had just stopped noticing it– either way, it wasn’t generally a thing I dwelled on. I took for granted that I wasn’t the type anyone would settle in with; I was too…whatever. So for the longest time I had just assumed I’d be on my own and I was okay with it. I knew I could handle it, and figured I and everyone else was better off for it. People came and went, and no one ever stuck around before– not that I ever gave them a real reason to. And if I couldn’t make friendships work, I had no business getting into a relationship. It truly didn’t bother me. Most of the time.

So it figured I would fall for the first person I’d had qualify as ‘friend’ in a while. That thought was slightly concerning, but as long as I didn’t make these feelings Steve’s problem, I could sleep easy at night. For the most part. The question was how to deal with it. Did I continue as normal and bottle this up for the rest of time, hoping it would fade out? Did I continue as normal but let him know, and let him decide if he wanted to stick around?

Or did I just…let go. Did I stop putting in the time to keep this friendship going. Did I stop responding, start avoiding him, and just fade out of his life even easier than I had faded in. That seemed like a real option. I was so naturally good at it, had done it so much by accident, he wouldn’t even miss me. After a while I doubt he would remember I existed.

My mouth tasted sour and bitter and I tossed back my drink. It didn’t help.

 

An hour later I was home, sitting at my kitchen counter and hanging my face over a cup of tea that got colder by the minute. My head still pulsed in time with the beat that had driven me out of the club, but it had become less and less over time.

My phone buzzed. “Shh,” I said softly, but it ignored me and I looked over only to hurt my neck when I did a double-take. Steve had sent _three_ texts. Shit. I sat up and opened my phone directly to my messages. If Steve had gotten injured again I was _really_ going to hurt him.

Fortunately the first message was a simple ‘Hey’ sent soon after I had set out on my ill-advised adventure. The next was ‘Are you busy?’ and then simply my name.

I hesitated. I had the terrible thought that here was where I could start ghosting on out of his life. Fade away like the nonentity I was.

I swallowed and sent back, ‘Sry. Went out’

Steve: Oh  
Steve: Good :)  
Steve: How are you?  
Me: Okay  
Me: You?  
Steve: I’m okay

The conversation stalled and I realized why I had even considered ghosting– it was easy to not respond when you didn’t know what to say.

Me: Good  
Steve: Can I ask you  
Steve: Are you really okay?

His texts came too fast after mine to be responding to the silence. Fuck.

Me: Yes  
Me: Why?

I shouldn’t have asked, but I had a bad feeling about this. I tapped my fingers on the table while I waited for a response.

Steve: You haven’t been talking to me much lately  
Steve: I’m just  
Steve: worried  
Steve: Was it Thanksgiving?  
Steve: Was I inappropriate?

Shit, shit, _shit_. I hit my forehead on the table which, fucking _ow_ , but I deserved it. I had never intended for him to feel bad for something that wasn’t his fault, nor was it ever supposed to be his problem. It wasn’t _right_ for him to be upset because of my bullshit. So I decided to be honest.

Me: No  
Me: It’s not you  
Me: It’s very definitely me  
Me: I’m mis  
Me: miserable  
Me: And awful  
Steve: You’re not  
Me: Am too  
Me: It’s not you tho  
Me: I’m having a hard time  
Me: That’s all

Honest to a point, at least.

Steve: I’m sorry  
Steve: Can I help?  
Me: No  
Me: Gotta  
Me: Push through  
Steve: Okay  
Steve: I’m your friend though  
Steve: You can always come to me  
Steve: And hey  
Steve: Sam and I are going out tomorrow for dinner  
Steve: I’ll text you the details just in case you’re up to it  
Steve: But I won’t expect anything  
Steve: Is that okay?

Why did he have to be so fucking thoughtful all the time. _Why_ did he have to be someone so out of my league in every single way.

Me: Fine  
Me: Can’t promise  
Steve: That’s okay <3

I was going to straight up _murder_ whoever taught him fucking heart symbols. Preferably by taking _their_ heart.

Steve: Have you eaten yet?  
Me: Don’t wanna  
Steve: How about dessert?

‘Only if you’re here to share it,’ I thought. The worst part was that it wasn’t even sexual– I just wanted him here. With me. All of the time. Okay, maybe not all of the time, but _most_ of the time. And that was new. That was different. That scared the hell out of me.

Then there was a knock at my door and I froze up. Nobody had buzzed for me and while my building wasn’t exactly Fort Knox, I also didn’t expect company I didn’t explicitly invite over. I gave it a few seconds but kept my connection to Steve in hand (just in case) and went to the peephole.

Me: Someone knocked. If I don’t respond maybe send help  
Steve: It’s safe :)

I squinted at the message and then peered out again. I didn’t see him at all and it wasn’t like him to hide. I cautiously opened the door and looked around but there was no one– but there was some _thing_.

A bakery box sat in front of my door, with a note scrawled on receipt paper that had my name followed with very flowery bubble letters telling me to “Feel Better!” from a hand-scrawled smiling sunflower.

I stared at it, picked up the box, brought it in, set it on the counter, and stared at it some more.

Steve: Okay now you’ve put that thought into my head I’m a little worried  
Steve: Are you okay?  
Me: brb  
Me: crying into cake  
Steve: Don’t cry  
Steve: Or cry if you need to I guess  
Steve: But eat something too  
Steve: I’ll say good night here  
Steve: And text you again with dinner info  
Steve: Again, only if you want to. Sam and I will NOT be slighted  
Steve: I promise  
Me: Good night Steve  
Steve: Good night <3

“Just fucking end me,” I muttered and stared at the screen while I dug into the cake with a fork. (It was small; I felt no shame.) It was also so unbelievably good that I actually stopped and checked out the box.

Me: Wait, how did you get a cake this late???  
Steve: Asking the real questions

I laughed. That surprised me, but I couldn’t help it.

Me: It’s really good  
Me: Thank you  
Steve: Anytime

I forced myself to think about this whole… _situation_ …while I ate. Phasing out of his life was, apparently, not much of an option if he was just randomly thinking of me like this. And I knew now very firmly that even accidentally hurting him was _not_ an option. Love was an easy word for complicated emotion, but it was the best way I knew how to classify how deeply I cared for him. And I _cared_ , to the point where if anybody was going to get hurt, I’d rather it be me.

The more I thought about it though, the more I had real hope that maybe nobody would get hurt at all. Steve was a really good guy. So even if he accidentally found out (I knocked on wood at the thought) it wouldn’t be the end of everything. He wouldn’t let it be the end of everything; he would be flattered, reject me politely, and we could move on. I hoped.

And for once, the best-case scenario didn’t seem the least likely. I trusted Steve that much. That was something I didn’t want to look into too much, but to be fair, he also trusted…me. He would know I wasn’t infatuated with some aspect of him and we might even work past this together. If not, he would give me the chance to work past it on my own, and I wasn’t about to let him down.

The box topped off my trash so I pulled the bag together and got ready to make the trek to take it out. Coming out the door I almost ran right into my neighbor, Robert, who was apparently doing the same thing.

“Hey,” he said. I was polite like a real human being and asked after his wife and kids. We made some more small talk on the way, and he even waited to hold the chute open for me. When I lifted the bag, his eyes zeroed in on the box stuffed half in the top. “Oh, that place is _nice_. You celebrating something?”

“No,” I said and shoved it in. “I…wasn’t feeling so great. So a friend sent it to me.”

“That must be a pretty good friend,” he said.

“Yeah,” I said, thinking about Steve and finally feeling hopeful. “A really good friend.”


	16. Insecure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not a date. It’s _not_. Two out of three people agree.
> 
> The third person thinks the first two are morons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Insecurity, pining, self-deprecation
> 
> A/N: Poor Sam. Also, sorry; I had way too much fun with this chapter. Me every step of the way now: is this too much self-indulgence? Yes, yes it is. [Tosses it right in]. So just a heads-up, there’s a little thing at the end of the chapter that takes us out of the main POV, because it was fun to write. I just love [fist clench] idiots. So much.

  
 

I got dressed up, I got dressed down. I even put my pajamas back on and got into bed. Only to slink out of it five minutes later, grumbling.

I kept up the grousing as I dressed in a comfortable outfit, grumbled as I trudged out of the house, and kept quietly complaining all the way as I went to meet Sam and Steve for dinner. When I was on the platform waiting for the train I actually got a little self-conscious, but that went away fast– I wasn’t the only one talking to myself, so I kept it up in effort to get all my grumpiness out of the way.

It actually kind of worked. I started out as a goblin hunched over in a big jacket cursing to myself, and I ended as a…well, still a goblin trying to curl up in my jacket, but it was more because it was cold and less of wanting to roly-poly my way home. I actually felt better. Hungry, even, although when I got close enough to see the restaurant sign my stomach did a flip.

I tried to peer in through the windows but it was pretty full and I couldn’t see much of anything, so I pulled out my phone to check the time. I was a little early, and I fired off a quick text to both Steve and Sam.

Me: Are you guys here or should I put my name for a table?  
Sam: Almost there. Don’t worry, we’ve got reservations

That was nice. There were enough people that the line to wait spilled outside, and I hoped that might work in our favor as far as Steve going unnoticed went. But, for the moment, I was a weird woman alone in a crowd of people waiting for tables, and bundled up fairly unfashionably by comparison to boot. Thankfully the people that made me the most self-conscious seemed to be overflow waiting at the bar next door, but I was still…

“Hey.”

Steve’s voice was gentle despite the noise of a busy sidewalk and I turned, already smiling as my stomach did something that made me wonder if I might be sick. Except I realized– no, fucking butterflies? _Seriously_? Maybe if I ate enough I could crush them under the weight because that was just fucking embarrassing.

“Hey,” I said and opened my arms to meet his hug, and I did _not_ embarrass myself, thank god. When I hugged Sam I even tried to linger for a few seconds more. If I got my way, Steve would never suspect a thing while I worked my way out of these feelings.

“Good to see you too,” Sam said, smiling like he was amused. “Steve told me you were getting better at hugging, but I didn’t think you’d be that enthusiastic.”

I shrugged. “It’s easy to be ‘enthusiastic’ when it’s cold.”

“Well, let’s get you warmed up,” Steve said and with one hand opened the door, while the other was flat against my back. I lost control of my tongue then– not in the sense that I started saying a bunch of stupid shit ( _thank god_ ) but I was, yes, warm, too warm, what the hell was I supposed to say to that, even.

“What a gentleman,” I finally said when we got our table and I grabbed the chair before Steve could, because gentleman or not, I had lines.

Steve, who never met a boundary he didn’t like to poke at, smiled deviously. To his credit though he backed off and I took off my coat and surveyed the restaurant to give myself a little extra time. I was just out with _friends_ , with _two_ friends, and I was glad Sam was there because I didn’t think I would have been able to be out, with Steve, just the two of us.

Unfortunately as I looked around I spied a familiar face. K was sitting at a table with a large group of friends, including a handful of people from work, and she was staring in my general direction. _Our_ general direction. Shit. I could probably guess what– or rather, who– she was focused on. She noticed me looking so she smiled and waved. I smiled and waved back, and quickly sat down.

“A friend?” Steve asked.

“Co-worker,” I said.

“Ah,” Sam said and thanked the waitress as she filled our water cups on her way. “Sorry; I thought she was staring at Steve.”

“So did I,” Steve admitted bashfully. He looked so _cute_ it almost distracted me from the inevitable awkward conversation to come.

“She probably was,” I said and gave him an apologetic smile. “She’s…a fan. But she’s really nice? Overly friendly, maybe, but she seems like a really good person.”

“Okay,” Steve said as he flipped open his menu. “If she comes over I’ll behave.”

I shared a look with Sam, who looked as unconvinced as I felt.

“Stop it,” Steve said, buried in his menu.

“Shut up; you’ve got no room to talk,” Sam said and opened his own menu, so I did the same. He glanced at me though and added, “If he doesn’t behave, I’ve got a story to share with you. Like all great stories, it involves super glue.”

Steve dropped his menu and looked as betrayed as if Sam had just cut off his hand and told him he was his father. “ _Sam_!” he hissed.

Tantalizing. “Is this story worth me having to find a new job?”

Sam seemed to consider that. “Hm,” he said. “Just might be.”

I patted Steve’s arm. “Never mind– go ahead and be yourself.”

“Asshole,” he mumbled and I burst out laughing.

K made her approach then and Steve, wisely, shut his face while she and I greeted each other. I didn’t do too terribly, but I was mostly just reacting to her small talk and I did not miss her eyes darting every other second to Sam and Steve. Neither did they, because Sam was biting his fist trying not to laugh and Steve was ‘helping’ with half-hearted harsh looks and a badly suppressed smile himself. I decided to put us all out of our misery.

“I’m just out for dinner with friends,” I said to her question and gestured at the other two-thirds of the table. “K, this is Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson. Sam, Steve, this is my co-worker, K.”

She gave them her full name as she shook their hands. While she tried to calmly fangirl, I tried to focus on other things– where the waitress was (busy), if any of her other friends were watching (not really), if anyone else noticed (no)– but I kept getting drawn back to watching them. K was naturally magnetic and Steve and Sam looked genuinely charmed and happy to be talking with her.

She said something that made Sam laugh and when she smiled I was struck by how _pretty_ she was. She was a bigger lady but still smaller than me and shaped in all the ways people liked. Her makeup was bold and looked good on her, and her hair was so perfect it made me touch my own head as I noticed all the things I lacked.

“Well, I’ll leave you to eat in peace,” she said and gave a flirty little wink as she stood up straight. “It was nice to meet you both.”

“Likewise,” Sam said and he and Steve and K all said their goodbyes and shook hands.

K then turned to me, as close to beaming as I had ever seen a human smile be. “I’m sorry I crashed your hangout,” she said. “But _thank you_.”

Her effusiveness took me aback and I regretted not actually listening to their conversation. Did she expect me to know why? Shit; I hoped it wouldn’t come up again. “Of course,” I said. “It was nice to see you.”

She closed her mouth but her smile was still holding back a lot of excitement, and then she surprised me with a quick hug before bouncing back to her friends, her very cute and flattering dress flowing behind her.

I smoothed down my shirt and resisted the urge to pluck a stray thread. “Thanks,” I said to them.

“She really is nice,” Steve said. “Are you okay?”

I wanted to joke, ask if they would rather have K to hang out with, but it felt too real, too close, and I knew it would come out wrong. And Sam and Steve looked happy and I wanted so badly to _not_ bring them down, I knew I had to try. ‘Fake it ‘til you make it’ and all. “I am,” I said as earnestly as I could. Steve’s smile bloomed and I wasn’t sure if coming out with them was the best idea or the worst. I braced myself to think that a lot over the night. “The portions look pretty big,” I said and skimmed the menu. “But it all looks so good.”

“It does,” Steve said. “Do you want to share plates?”

Tempting. “Nah,” I said, eyeing something in particular. “This looks spicy.”

“So?”

I put my menu down and tried to channel my inner school marm to show him just how much he did _not_ impress me with his act. “You hate spicy stuff.”

“I do not hate spicy stuff,” he scoffed. _Scoffed_.

“You avoid it every time we go out to eat.”

“I don’t avoid it; there are just other things to choose.”

“You almost died when I gave you _one_ spicy-hot Dorito.”

“I– you– I did _not_. And you surprised me with it!”

“It isn’t bad if you don’t like spicy food, Steve; just admit it.”

“Says the person who mocks me for it.”

“Just that once. You ran to the sink like your head was on fire.”

“You surprised me!”

“It was _one chip_!”

Sam cleared his throat and I realized Steve and I were leaning close enough to keep our argument quiet, but that meant our foreheads were nearly touching. Sam was smirking and our waitress was giving that patient smile of ‘please fucking order already I have so many tables.’

Steve and I pushed away from each other and I quick flipped through the drink menu. “Shit, what has the most alcohol?” I asked as I scanned through names. “I don’t think I can deal with you sober.”

“Stop it,” Steve said and swatted at me with his menu.

I picked something familiar just to send the poor lady on her way and I was as nice as nice could be in hopes that my drink would get to me safe and sound.

“I got a sample platter of appetizers,” Sam said.

I felt guilty, then. Stupid dumb feelings aside, I really liked Sam a lot– it was mostly that I knew Steve better, so of course I gravitated to him. That instinct was really coming to bite me in the ass now. “Sorry Sam,” I said and scooted another inch away from Steve.

Sam waved a careless hand and looked truly unbothered. Still, I resolved to do better. Maybe next time we went out to eat, Sam could be between me and Steve. Except, judging by Sam’s mischievous smile that flitted from me to Steve and back again, maybe not? I felt a sudden fear that maybe I was being obvious and he _knew_. “You can pay me back with whatever that ‘Dorito’ story is,” he said. “I couldn’t hear much but I did hear _that_.”

My heart attack stopped just as it started and the memory of Steve crunching down on a super-spicy chip only to _run_ to wash his mouth out in my kitchen sink was still a memory that made me smile. “I’ll trade it for the superglue story.”

“I guess Steve is safe for now then.” Sam clicked his tongue. “I promised I wouldn’t tell that one except if absolutely necessary.”

“You said you wouldn’t tell at all,” Steve grumbled, raising his voice just loud enough for Sam to hear him over a sudden burst of laughter from a group nearby.

“That’s what you _wanted_ me to promise,” Sam said. “I would never actually promise that and you know it.”

“Because you’re smart,” I said.

“Am I supposed to resent my friends this much?” Steve asked. “I feel like I’m doing something wrong.”

“You love us and you know it,” I said without thinking.

“Yeah, I do,” he said. Casually. It was very casual and very familiar and meant absolutely nothing. Like it always did. Because he was probably working off the same basic script I was and we had that exchange down, we used it so much for such petty, meaningless shit. It was _nothing_ and that was _fine_.

But the way he smiled at me after he said it felt so different that it _hit_ me in the chest. I wished he meant it, but Steve was just being Steve and I was reading too much into it, into everything.

I had to hide my face in the menu just to cover up how sad that made me.

After a few seconds Steve said my name and, with some more control over my emotions, I put the menu down. “If we’re going to share,” I said. “What are _you_ bringing to the table?”

I hoped for a change of subject to take my mind off of myself, but Steve smiled, opened his menu and said, “Whatever you want.”

It was going to be a long night.

 

I tried. I made a conscious effort to steer the conversation to Sam at every opportunity, but it almost felt like he was thwarting me to talk up Steve. At first I thought it was a cosmic joke and it was just that my focus was constantly drawn to Steve, but our favorite blond was blushing pretty red by the time Sam was finishing up his story about what a good wingman Steve was.

“I swear, I almost left with _four_ people, he talked me up so much,” Sam said.

“Sam…” Steve groaned, but by then there was no food left for him to stuff his face with and hide.

“Did you keep anybody for yourself?” I asked Steve, mostly joking, but the way they both went quiet made something in my chest leap.

“No,” Steve said, but for some reason I didn’t feel relieved. I felt a little sad, a little…actually, a little curious. Maybe that was my solution. Steve was out of my league, but theoretically obtainable. But if he was in a relationship with someone, anyone, that changed things.

And if it made him happy, it was all I needed.

“Do you ever act as his wingman?” I asked Sam. “Aside from the obvious.”

“Man, have you ever tried to set him up?” Sam shook his head. “Best let him come around when he’s ready.”

“I am pretty stubborn,” Steve said.

“And the ocean is wet,” I said, still thinking. As far as ideas went, it wasn’t half bad. “I’ve never been a wingman before, but how hard could it be?” I asked no one in particular. Steve and Sam, however, shared very concerned glances. “Hey! I could talk him up.”

Sam snorted (rude) and Steve smiled and said, “Or embarrass me?” which was double rude.

“It makes you relatable,” I said. “You are so ungrateful sometimes.”

Steve stared at me like he was thinking of a good comeback and I braced myself. But he suddenly flinched and whipped out his phone.

Sam sat up straighter. “Trouble?”

Steve frowned and answered the call. After a few seconds he rolled his eyes, pulled it partially away and turned his face to Sam. “Not an emergency, but I’ll be right back.”

Steve then looked at me, apologetic puppy eyes already kicking in. “Do what you need to do,” I said and watched him go. As soon as he was out the door I said, “Hey Sam?”

Sam, in the middle of sipping his drink, raised both eyebrows and slowly set his cup down. “I do not like the sound of this.”

“I just said your name.”

“Uh huh, in _that_ tone, right after Steve left. What is it?”

I wanted to ask what that tone supposedly was, but I wanted more to get to my actual question before Steve came back. I leaned back in my chair and tried to affect an air of utmost carelessness.

“Do you think Steve’s lonely?”

Sam blinked. “Okay. Yeah, I’m glad I wasn’t drinking anything for that.”

He sounded so surprised that I felt queasy with embarrassment. This was a bad idea and I was an idiot. “I didn’t– I– I’m sorry–”

“No, no.” Sam leaned in. “I didn’t mean anything by that. You just surprised me.”

“Sorry.” I wanted to have extra-human abilities more than ever. Going invisible would have been the _best_ right then. Except Sam still had my number. Shit. “Can we forget I said that?”

“No,” Sam said. “You sound worried.”

“I was trying for mostly aloof, _maybe_ slightly concerned.”

“Missed the mark just a little.” Sam smiled. “But is there a reason you’re asking?”

Oh, right, he was Steve’s friend too; of course he’d want to know if something was wrong. “It’s nothing he’s said,” I said. “Steve is just…a person who likes people. I’m worried sometimes that there are things he’d like to be doing that maybe he’s afraid to. I’m his friend; it’s my job to make him super uncomfortable.”

Sam grinned. “And what about when he comes back at you with that?”

“Obviously he’s just being mean.”

Sam laughed, but not for too long. At least he wasn’t looking at me weird anymore. “It’s harder than you think to set Steve up,” he said.

“Maybe because _he’s_ not thinking about it,” I said. But if he just happened to find someone who made him go ‘oh’ and imagine settling in…I bit my lip. “What kind of partner do you think Steve would like? Who would be good for him?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Well…probably a smartass…someone who doesn’t worship the Captain America ideal; gets along with his friends…smart…doesn’t back down from calling him out when he’s stupid, but is still nice to him and treats him well…”

I frowned. That was way too specific. Well, it was also common sense, but how could I know that about a person unless I _knew_ them. “I get that Steve isn’t shallow but I was kind of hoping to start off with something like ‘brunettes’ or ‘a cute smile’ or something easy. I don’t know a lot of people I can say that about.”

Sam choked on his drink. Hard. I almost went to pat him on the back but he moved away. “Sorry,” he said and wiped the bit of splatter that hit the table. “But are you trying to make Steve a Tinder profile or something?”

“No! No; I would never catfish anyone,” I said and played with my straw. “I just wonder if Steve would like. Someone. In that way. That’s all.”

“Hmm.” Sam was looking at me. I did not know what was going on in his head but I did not like it. “What about you?”

“What about me what?”

“You’re single,” Sam said. “You ever think about Steve as potential?”

Even if I _could_ trust anybody with that one single idea, I could never honestly answer that question and keep my dignity. As it was, Sam was relaxed enough about it that I didn’t meltdown into a panic, and I tried to play it off. “He’s the first _friendship_ I haven’t fucked up in a long time.”

“That’s not answering the question.”

Okay, that was more pointed. Was I somehow exuding ‘want!’ like a pathetic hanger-on? I thought I had been doing all right. “I’m not the kind of person someone would want like that.”

“That’s not true,” Sam said, sounding earnest to such a point that I looked at him. “Steve likes being around you.”

“As a friend,” I said. “Romantic relationships are…something else.”

“Not always,” Sam said. “Sometimes it’s a friendship with more physicality. And only if the people involved are into that. Anyway…” He sat back in his seat. “I was just asking. You two are pretty close.”

“He’s my friend,” I said and looked out the window. Steve was waiting for a few other people to exit, and even caught the door before it could slam on someone. They looked up to thank him and he smiled, like the gracious dork he was. “I want him to be happy. He deserves someone kind, and smart, and strong, and if not pretty, then someone who cares about their body enough to take care of it. Someone good. Someone good enough.”

Sam chuckled. “I like Steve too, but you know him. He ain’t exactly Saint Rogers.”

“Oh, he’s definitely not,” I said, still watching as Steve tried to extricate himself from the thankful person. Poor guy; another good deed gone wrong. “But he still deserves all good things.”

“And what if he wants something else?”

I didn’t get to tell Sam that Steve deserved more than a mess, because Steve managed to sneak away while the woman was looking elsewhere, and he ducked into his seat next to me with a bashful, “I’m so sorry.”

“Did she offer to give you her firstborn or did she want you to help make them?” I asked.

Sam laughed and Steve pushed his face into his arms with a long, drawn-out groan of my name. “Ooo, I don’t think I’ve gotten one that big before,” I said. “That must have been good.”

“You’re both the worst,” Steve said as he sat up, and brushed some of his hair back. There was a stray strand after his hand left and I almost, _almost_ reached to pull it down.

I cleared my throat and sat very, very straight in my chair, and put my hands in my lap. “Is everything okay?” I asked.

“I’m fine.” He waved a hand and the motion moved the hair into place. “Tony being Tony.”

“And you answered?” Sam asked.

“The last time I ignored him like that he left hundreds of one second voicemails and made it so I couldn’t select them all at once,” Steve said. “I had to delete them one by one.”

I snorted so hard I sounded like an actual pig, and when Steve shot me a dirty look I clamped a hand over my mouth. “Sorry,” I said, _trying_ not to smile.

Steve wasn’t helping by holding back his own smile. Enabling jerk. “You would have been so mad if it happened to you.”

“Undeniably pissed,” I agreed. “But…it’s a _little_ funny.”

“Nope,” Steve said primly. “Not when it happens to me.”

“You're both assholes,” Sam said and I toasted him before throwing back the last of my drink. Sam was working on his second glass so I checked my phone to see if I had time for another. It was a little late, but…

“Do you guys want dessert?” Steve asked.

I pushed the glass away and leaned over to scan the menu he pulled out from the stand. Steve turned so he could move the menu closer and I tried not to crowd him too much, but after not finding anything I could eat by myself I turned my head up to ask him if he wanted to split something and came face-to-face, literally, with just how close we were. His arm was behind my chair and my shoulder was touching his chest, and now that I had realized it I couldn’t be anything but hyper-aware of the contact. He was leaning over– to read the menu, of course, since it was mostly in front of _me_ , but I hadn’t noticed that I was practically ensconced by him, until now, and when he said my name, his lips–

“Can I uh…” I scooted away just a little bit, if only to give my brain some room to function. “Can I steal this for a second?”

“Oh, of course.” Steve sat back in his own chair and I was as disappointed as I was relieved. “I know what I want.”

Sam didn’t say anything and I couldn’t bring myself to look up, even after I selected something. I didn’t have anything I could feasibly distract myself with, so I stared at the page. _‘Very subtle; A+ deflection, Self. Idiot,’_ I thought sourly.

“What did you pick?” Steve asked and put his hand back on the back of my chair. It was light and more distant than before but it was there and god, I really needed to get over myself. I took a swig of water and sat straight, ignoring the brief brush of his fingers on my back. I could do this. I could _not_ be a desperate creep logging every point of contact with my _friend_ who was just being his normal _friendly_ self.

“There’s a fancy boozy hot chocolate that looks good,” I said. “What are you getting?”

Rather than tell me, he showed me. By coming in even closer than he had before, putting his arm fully along the back of my chair, and pointing excitedly at some peanut-butter-chocolate monstrosity. It was a testament to just how much he fried my brain that I wasn’t more focused on the exact specifications of food, and instead fixated on _‘Steve wow muscles wow he’s warm Steve hi Steve hi oh god I’m in so much trouble.’_

So much for non-creepy.

“It– uh– it looks real good,” I said and swallowed hard. Sam snorted and I lifted my eyes, not my head, because I didn’t want Steve to see the look I was giving him. As far as superpowers went though, invisibility was out and telepathy was in, because being able to actually tell Sam _‘if you say one fucking word I will eat your HEART’_ would have been invaluable right then.

He was duly unimpressed. And held his hand out. “Can I have a look, or…”

Steve snapped the menu shut and handed it over faster than I could even have a chance to respond. “Sorry Sam,” he said.

“Sorry,” I said, feeling genuinely so. I needed to stop acting like I was a moon in Steve’s gravitational orbit.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Sam said, but he was smug about his magnanimity that I didn’t feel so bad anymore.

Getting dessert was a painless ordeal, at least. I stayed quiet while Sam and Steve talked and tried to center myself. Steve’s dessert looked delicious (and yes, definitely monstrous) and Sam had a piece of cheesecake, and the two of them bickered over which one was better. When they turned to me I had finally pushed aside some of the mountain of whipped cream (that I was _definitely_ going to get to later) and I took a tentative sip. It was hot, but the new burn on my tongue was worth the rich, full, sweet and spiked flavor that rolled in over it.

I glanced up and when I saw Steve _staring_ at me I did a double take that made me hit my lip on the cup in a way that pinched it. Graceful. _Great_.

Steve smiled. “How is it?”

“It’s, um, good. Really good,” I said and looked at the massive cup with new longing that maybe I could drown in it. Or maybe upend it over my head. At least then I’d have an excuse to leave that would be slightly less embarrassing.

“We can tell,” Sam said and I flipped him off. They both laughed and I managed to pull myself away from the cup, feeling like I was safe.

That was not to be.

Sam snorted. “Uhh…”

I looked at him but he had the strangest smile. “What?” I asked and looked at Steve.

Steve rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing,” he said, but before I could feel okay again he said, “You just have something, right…” and touched my face to wipe away whatever it was with his _thumb_.

I sat stock-still for a moment and tried to get a handle on that. Steve said my name and I snapped to. “Did you get it?” I asked, shockingly casual to my own ears. Hopefully that wasn’t just a wishful interpretation.

“Yeah, I– sorry; I should have asked,” Steve said and went back to his food. Sam was stifling laughter but I ignored him and tried to enjoy my liquid dessert…but I drank it way too fast just out of nerves.

At the end of our courses Sam stretched and I didn’t bother even fake-haranguing Steve over the bill. I felt exhausted. It was a good thing I still had a day to recover so I wouldn’t be sniping at my co-workers due to social fatigue.

“We can give you a ride back to your place,” Steve said.

“I think I’ll walk,” I said. Some cold air sounded nicer than a stiflingly hot cab at the moment, even if I was worn down.

“I’ll walk with you,” Steve said. I couldn’t think of a good reason to argue, and I was too tired to panic, so I looked at Sam.

“I’m gonna get a ride back and go to bed swearing that I’ll never eat this much again, until I wake up in the morning looking for breakfast,” Sam said and patted his stomach. “But you two have fun with that.”

When we were parting outside the door I stopped and gave Sam a real tight hug. “I’m sorry if I wasn’t the best company, but I’m glad you guys invited me.”

“We’re happy to take you however you are,” Sam said and hugged just as tight. “Ain't that right, Steve?”

“Absolutely,” Steve said fervently.

They were too good to me. I gave Sam one last squeeze and stepped back. “In case I don’t see you again before you leave, don’t be a stranger.”

“Well, maybe you can come out to DC sometime,” he said.

“Hm.” I considered traveling. “We’ll have to discuss our friendship level later. That’s a much longer period away from my couch.”

“I bet my couch is more comfortable.”

That woke me up a little. “You haven’t even been on my couch!”

Sam smirked. He was just as devious as Steve; he just looked better doing it. “Doesn’t matter– now you’re curious.”

I slumped. He was right. “You’re awful and I’m never going to DC if only to spite you.”

“Right, right,” he said, utterly unconvinced. “Good night you two.”

“Bye Sam,” and “See you tomorrow Sam,” came from me and Steve respectively, but we both lingered on the sidewalk awkwardly.

Steve opened his arm to gesture towards home. My home, that was. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” I said, mocking the words just a little before I fell in line next to him. I wasn’t really that affected from the drinks but the cold night air kept me pretty awake and aware and I felt all right, everything considered. I had gone out to a new place with two people I really liked, and I hadn’t abjectly humiliated myself, _and_ the friend who I had a crush on was none the wiser. I was starting to think I could really do this; I could come to grips with these feelings and move past them before he even knew they existed.

“Here.”

That was, naturally, when Steve decided to _put his arm around me_ and pull me in closer. My heart made a single beat within my esophagus and then just gave up entirely. Jesus Christ; I’d have rather lived out hard mode in “Dark Souls.” At least then I knew the torment would _end_.

“Am I shivering that much?” I asked as non-judgmentally as I could.

“Just a little,” Steve said. I could tell he was looking at me and I couldn’t bring myself to look back at him. “Is this okay? Would you rather have my jacket?”

“No.” Him being a stupid self-sacrificing jerk snapped me out of my own head and I wrapped my arm around his waist. “Don’t you dare.”

“It’s not dirty.”

I looked at him then. Sternly. Or at least, that’s what I tried for. “I _know_ how you feel about the cold,” I said, lowering my voice just in case.

I still wasn’t sure if that was okay to say, but while he got more serious, it was…in a soft way. “I’d be fine,” he said, but he hooked me closer. “I feel pretty warm right now.”

“You only had one sip of my hot chocolate. Did the booze get to you that much?”

“It’s not the booze. Or the hot chocolate,” he said meaningfully.

Oh no. Oh no. If he knew, would he ever–

“You're not going to get sappy on me, are you?” I asked, trying to pull this plane up, up, up.

“Why not?” he said. “You did.”

“I did _not_.”

“You did.” He grinned and that– that, I could handle. _Keep being a little shit and maybe I’ll get through this with some pretend dignity,_ I thought. Hoped.

“Nope,” I said. “I was being mean. And– and scolding, and stern.”

“Nope,” he said, like the overgrown brat he was. “You were being kind and considerate and sweet–”

I burst out laughing. He looked surprised and I tried to wave it away. “I’m sorry, but I–” I coughed and stifled my laughter into something quieter, to match the white waves of hot breath disappearing into cold air. “Nobody has ever thought of me as _sweet_.”

“That’s not true,” he said. “I’m thinking it right now.”

Honestly it was too ridiculous to be real. “You’re just doing it because you want to be annoying. You don’t mean it.”

“Why can’t it be both?” he said, but he tugged on my hand and we stopped, off to the side of the walkway as people passed us intermittently. I didn’t know if he meant it, but the look on his face meant _something_. “I’m glad you felt well enough to come out. Tonight. With us,” he said.

I managed a little smile. “Me too. Thanks for inviting me. And being understanding.”

“Of course,” he said.

A yawn overtook me so suddenly I had to rush to cover it. Fucking ‘moodkiller’ was my middle name. “Sorry,” I said. “I guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

But Steve just smiled and brought me back out with him closer to the street. “Then we’ll get a cab, and I’ll see you home.” And he did. He rode the whole way with me, paid the guy to wait, and walked me all the way to my door. Since he had the cab downstairs I was able to keep him outside the apartment, but I still closed the door so slowly, like I could savor every second. As soon as it was shut and locked though exhaustion settled into my every pore and I was thankful for it. I went right to my bed and barely managed to change into my pajamas before I passed out, and found a momentary reprieve from my fears.

 

 

 

 

~bonus~ 

Steve: So?  
Sam: I should be asking you  
Sam: You staying the night?  
Steve: Sam  
Steve: You promised  
Steve: What do you think?  
Sam: I stand by that I think you need to grow up  
Steve: You owe me, you said anything  
Sam: I said I’d do it, I never said I wouldn’t make fun of you  
Steve: Well?  
Sam: Well  
Sam: I think you’re both equal on the low self-esteem  
Sam: So you have that in common  
Steve: Oh :(  
Sam: I’m not the one you should be sad-eyeing  
Sam: But to the point:  
Sam: My opinion hasn’t changed; I think you have a shot  
Sam: But you’re gonna have to put in the work to convince her she’s the one you want  
Sam: She was more concerned about you having a partner that was ‘good enough’ for you  
Sam: Do with all that what you will  
Sam: I love you man but I am out of this  
Steve: Thank you Sam  
Steve: I appreciate the help and I promise I have it from here  
Steve: But  
Steve: I can’t believe you were going to tell her the super glue story  
Steve: Worst wingman ever  
Sam: Hey now  
Sam: I wasn’t really going to  
Sam: I knew you’d back down  
Sam: I was just saving you from yourself  
Sam: Lesson #1: don’t embarrass your girl in front of her co-workers  
Steve: Are there other lessons?  
Sam: Well #2 would have been ‘don’t call your girl an asshole’  
Sam: But she seemed pretty okay with that so you’ll have to make your own rules  
Steve: I will :)  
Steve: She’s not my girl though  
Sam: Not with that attitude she’s not  
Steve: Good point  
Steve: Night Sam  
Sam: Night asshole. Do not step foot in here in the morning unless you want it up your ass

Sam flipped away from the conversation before Steve could jam the metaphorical foot down his throat and went to his second-most-recent conversation.

Sam: What does it take to get the good vodka  
Natasha: Depends on the story  
Sam: I just spent the last few hours as a 3rd wheel with two people who were on a date but pretending they were not on a date while desperately wanting to be on a date  
Natasha: Come to Clint’s  
Natasha: I’ll ready the Beluga  
Natasha: You bring the story  
Sam: You keep the good shit at Clint’s????  
Natasha: You’ll see why when you get here ;)

Sam knew Natasha better than to question, so he slipped his shoes back on and went to bitch the night away. At the very least, he’d have some good company and commiseration. At best, Steve would have someone else on his ass, and hopefully this whole situation would get resolved before anybody got hurt.


	17. Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spontaneity has its upsides. And downsides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Mention of Reader/OFC being big around the middle, bonus section at the end that isn’t from viewpoint of Reader/OFC
> 
> Confession: I have had a version of this written for…a while. A long while. I saw a black and white photo of Chris Evans on a bike and the spirit took me, basically. I had to rework it a little but it’s mostly the same. Mostly.

Steve got called out to a job (or mission or whatever the fuck they called those things) on Monday but he made it seem like it wasn’t a big thing and even texted me while he was away. I assumed everything was fine and he would tell me when he got back, but the week wasn’t even over when, as I was boogie-ing past my window, I caught a glimpse of what I could have sworn was Steve’s bike parked on the street.

I walked backwards to get a better look at it and marveled at the look-alike– except, as I examined it, I wasn’t that convinced it was just a look-alike. And it wasn’t like Steve never showed up unannounced. However nobody had buzzed and I didn’t see him anywhere on the sidewalk; in fact I could see no rider to speak of. Maybe someone was just visiting and it wasn’t Steve’s. But it sure as hell looked like it was.

The more I stared at it the more it bugged me, and the longer I went without hearing a knock on the door the more perplexed I was. Curiosity finally sent me out into the cold night with slip-on shoes, my keys, and a jacket that was way too thin to be the easiest to grab. But I wasn’t going to be out for long. I just wanted to peek.

I didn’t run into Steve on my way down, but as I approached the gleaming motorcycle I realized it was his bike, confirmed by the little ‘A’ sticker Clint had stuck on it as a joke. Well, Steve would have to come back eventually, so I decided to wait for a few minutes. Under the streetlights his motorcycle looked really nice; freshly washed, shined…

“You want to take a ride?”

I stopped my hand before it made contact with the gleaming paint and I turned around. “No,” I said as Steve walked up to me. “I was just wondering where the loser normally attached to this bike was.”

He smiled at me, and he walked with a cocksure little swagger that belied a mission gone well. It was so rare to see him in an unprompted good mood, I had to smile too. “Also, that was terrible. You’re lucky I didn’t tell you to fuck off.”

“Well the night’s young, right?” he asked and came right up to me. He smelled nice, like new leather and soap. So he had actually stopped to take care of himself. Miracle of miracles. He held up a bag from the donut shop down the street. “I had to make a pit stop, but I wasn’t going to let a parking spot like this go.”

“That’s fair.” It was a really good spot, although it was in just the right place for the streetlights to shine on the bike like it was on a show floor. I didn’t live in a terrible neighborhood though, so it was fine.

“I meant it,” Steve said and I looked up at him. “Do you want to take a ride?”

I snorted, because there was no way to make that not sound dirty, but it was Steve, and Steve didn’t– but I did– and suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore. I cleared my throat. “Um…no, I’m good.”

“Are you sure?” Steve went around the other side and lifted a helmet that was hooked to the back of the bike itself somehow.

I was about to refuse when I realized. “You have a helmet that you don’t use?”

“I don’t really need one, but I gave Maria a ride home one time and she–”

“Steven!”

He cringed. “Please don’t call me that. You sound like my mother.”

“Your mother was probably a very smart woman!” I said and crossed my arms. The mom-zone. Ugh. At least then I could stop deluding myself.

Steve’s lips quirked up again. “She was.” He crossed his arms and raised his head to look down on me. “And she probably would have been brave enough to get on a motorcycle.”

My eyebrows went way up. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged lightly. “It’s okay if you’re scared, I just wish you’d come out and say it.”

“Scared?” I knew he was riling me up, I knew it, but damn if it wasn’t working. “I’m not scared! I’m lazy and have a donut to eat and don’t want to put on real pants. Also, what about your primo parking spot?”

“You can get back in your pajamas afterwards.” He held up the bag and shook it. “With a well-deserved donut.”

He did have the donut. Damn it. I scowled at him. “Fine, I relent to your terms you monster. Just…let the donut go. It didn’t do anything.”

He shook his head, but he was trying not to laugh. He then handed me the bag. “Go get dressed. And take this up with you; we won’t be gone too long.”

I took the bag and turned around. Then I turned right back around again. “What’s stopping me from taking the bag and locking myself in my apartment and eating both donuts?”

“Well,” he said and took his phone out of his pocket to start messing with it. “You could. However…” He held up the phone and showed me a video. Of a chicken. That started clucking.

I scowled at him so hard my face hurt. “Someday I am going to get Natasha to owe me a life debt,” I said solemnly. “And then I am going to have her assassinate the hell out of you.”

“No you won’t,” he said, smiling brightly. The motorcycle’s shine suddenly had nothing on him. “It’s too much work.”

Thoroughly defeated, I stomped my way back to the building. For a little bit, because it hurt my feet. I turned and pointed at him. “This. This is why I don’t have friends.”

“Right,” he said cheerfully. “Wear your boots. Oh, but that jacket is fine– you can wear mine over it.”

I tripped on the first step.

 

“How’s the helmet?”

“Fine.” It felt a little big and I adjusted it so I could see better, but it was secure enough and would make sure my brains didn’t turn to tomato soup if something bad happened, and that was all I really needed. “I can’t believe you lug it around and don’t wear it.”

“I’m pretty hardy,” he said.

He sounded distracted so I turned to look at him and almost had a heart attack when I came face-to-bicep with his soft long-sleeve shirt. “Steve!”

“Honestly, I’m not that cold,” he said and held open his leather jacket. “Put this on.”

I stared at it for several seconds and wondered how it felt; how big were the pockets, was it the kind of soft that came from being well-worn, would it smell like, would it feel like, being wrapped up by–

“I’m good.” I patted my chest. My jacket; I was patting my jacket. “I’m covered.”

“This has more protection,” he said and held it closer to me. I leaned back. “Not that we’re going to fall, but it’s always better to be safe.”

“You need to be safe too. Last time I checked you still had skin under that thin-ass shirt.” It was long sleeved but, surprise surprise, skin tight. Was he doing this to me on purpose? That was just terrible (but also admirable).

What was just straight up terrible, though, was that I was almost ready to give in, steal his jacket for my hoard, and reveal myself for the magpie I secretly was. Then I noticed an issue that would, hopefully, drop this conversation entirely. Hopefully, because I found it just a touch depressing. “Also, there’s no way that would fit me.”

He gave me a look like he thought that was the lamest excuse in the world. “That’s the worst lie ever.”

I wished. “Really? Do you want me to try and zip it up?” I gestured from my…well-padded waistline to his ridiculous triangle point.

He examined me and didn’t that just suck, but as he did the math in his head, he seemed to come around to my side. Naturally, that did not make me feel better, and so I tried to put the issue to bed as fast as possible. “I can try and zip it up but I’m warning you, if it doesn’t fit I’m going to go back upstairs to mope and probably eat both donuts in a fit of fatalistic misery. Your choice.”

He pouted. That was cute, at least. “I think you’re just making excuses,” he grumbled but he put his jacket back on.

“More like you don’t want to risk your donut,” I said and stared out at the street while he circled his bike to check it or something. I briefly wondered if this was something I should be doing, or if I should make an excuse and bow out.

Arms suddenly wrapped around my waist from behind and I yelped.

“You feel pretty perfect to me,” Steve said and slid away to stand farther than arm’s length just before I could swat him. He grinned. “Comfortable.”

“Dick.” But I laughed and hated (loved) him a little more. “How am I supposed to be mad when you say shit like that?”

“That’s the idea.” He knocked the visor down over my face. “Let’s go.”

Despite not having the extra protection, I didn’t feel especially unsafe; Steve drove pretty carefully, taking streets that didn’t have too many cars so we could ride through easily, and my puffy jacket and warm gloves helped give me enough extra distance from him so I could keep my head. It was nice. It felt nice, getting out and doing something with Steve that felt like…what I imagined a date might be. Why he was still wasting his time with me when he could be out on a date, meeting people, making a deeper connection he seemed to long for, was beyond me though.

We ended up at Gantry Park and walked through. The few people around were easy to ignore and lights shone bright over the water from the buildings towering across the way. Steve stayed close and I was content to walk with him, but he led us off over to an area with a couple of empty benches, and we leaned against the railing and stared out at the city proper.

“So: how was it?” he asked.

He looked so earnest I didn’t have the heart to lie. “It was nice,” I said and focused on the buildings. “I don’t know what Sam is talking about; you’re a good driver.”

Steve scoffed. “Don’t listen to anything he says; I’m a great driver. Even when I have maniacs trying to shoot me off my bike.”

I gave him literal side-eye. “Didn’t you get two tickets last month alone?”

“Those were parking tickets.”

“Mm hm. Sure thing.”

He nudged me so gently I barely moved, so I overacted and pinwheeled my arms like he had shoved me. “Shit!” he said and was quick to ‘catch’ me– and with both arms around me like I would go crashing right through the railing I couldn’t find much to complain about. He pulled back and looked me over. “I’m so sorry; I–” He frowned and stared at me a little bit harder.

I cracked and started laughing. Until he lifted me up into his arms and brought me closer to the water. Then I wrapped my arms around him and dug my nails into his jacket. “Don’t you dare!”

“I really should throw you in for that,” he said, but he put me down and neither of us let go right away. Until I managed to pull my hands away; then he followed suit and held out his hand. “Truce?”

“Nope. I don’t trust you,” I said and walked over to a bench.

“Me? You’re the one who started it,” he said and sat next to me.

“Nuh uh; this whole thing began with you calling me a chicken,” I said and looked out at the lights again. I had to admit, “It is nice though.”

“So you don’t regret it then,” Steve said and swung an arm behind me. It lined the bench but I was the one who felt it.

“Of course not,” I said. I couldn’t face him. “I like spending time with you. Even if you are, surprisingly, anti-donut-and-pjs.”

His hand actually slid down to rest on my shoulder and I froze. “It just means we get to spend more time together when we get back.”

“That’s…good,” I said and forced myself to smile up at him. But he looked at me so intently. “Steve?”

He wasn’t quite smiling at me, but his expression was…something like it. Amused, or fond; there was something I couldn’t quite decipher but it was good. He looked happy. “I wanted to tell you–”

Something buzzed and we both jumped back. His phone, naturally, and he looked so murderous I thought he might break it in half when he answered it. I felt terrible for him– a nice night that he was supposed to be able to enjoy and he was getting called in again? It made me so mad that he never got a fucking break.

“You just barely got back,” I said when he hung up. “It’s not fair that they do that to you.”

He sighed and slid the phone back in his pocket. “It’s important. Who else are they going to call?”

“They’re gonna have to find someone else when they run you into the fucking ground!”

My snap surprised the both of us and I quickly tried to calm down. “I’m sorry Steve,” I said and breathed. “But that’s not…people care about you for more than saving the world, and you care about more than just that too. SHIELD doesn’t get to own you; they can’t just throw you back in the fight like you live in a character-select screen.”

He quirked a small smile. “Thankfully it’s nothing too strenuous, but it is related to the last mission,” he said and sighed. “Politics.”

“Ew,” I said but I felt a little less stressed. “You’re not making this better.”

“I know,” he said. “But it can wait until morning. I just have to…” He looked at me for a little while and sighed again, then stood with his hand out to me. “We should both get some sleep.”

“And donuts,” I said and took the help.

“You can have mine,” he said. “I’ll see you inside but then I have to go. I’ll…maybe we can do this again sometime?”

I was a little surprised by the earnestness in his voice. “Yeah, of course. This was nice.” It was so nice I was going to kick Agent Coulson the next time I saw him. And get destroyed, probably, but it would be worth it. “If we do it again and I hear your phone, though, I’m chucking it in the water.”

“I’ll help,” he said as we made it back to the bike.

“I guess it could be worse,” I said as he unhooked the helmet for me. “At least you weren't out on a date or something.”

He stopped and looked at me strangely. “Why…what does that mean?”

I shrugged and took the helmet when he handed it to me. “I’ve been thinking…I’m pretty selfish with you, I guess, and you have your other friends and your job and that already doesn’t leave enough time to find someone. I guess I just wanted to let you know that…that it’s fine if you want to take some time to start dating again. If you want to. You’re doing really well, moving forward and all that good stuff, and I don’t want to be the thing that holds you back.” There. Said. Done. Now I would actually have to put my money where my mouth was if he ever did get set up on a date, but that was an issue I could deal with on my own. Likely by screaming into my pillows in the sanctity of my own home. Like an adult.

“You’re not,” he said quickly. “Holding me back,” he added, softer, and stared at me for a few seconds. “I’m not looking for–…well I can’t say that, I guess. But you’re right; I’ll move forward eventually. Right now, though, I’m doing what I want to be doing, and I’m right where I want to be.” He managed a smile for me. “So don’t worry about me either, okay?”

I jerked my head up and down. “Great.”

“Good.”

“Wonderful.”

“Fantastic.”

I tried to think of a good word. I failed and went with, “Super.”

“Amazing.”

“Awesome.”

“Fine.”

Really? That was boring. “Superb.”

He frowned at me. “Put the goddamn helmet on.”

I flashed him a grin. “You're such a sore loser.” But I put the goddamn helmet on and got on behind him.

So. He was thinking about getting back in the game. He ‘couldn’t say’ he wasn’t, and that was…heartening and heartbreaking. A little less of the latter than I expected, honestly, though I also didn’t want to think about that inevitable day for too long. Because despite what he seemed to think sometimes, he was okay enough to start forging more new connections, and someday he would find a partner, someone who was wonderful and kind and good in every way, who would hopefully tolerate our friendship, and I would be happy for him. Eventually. For now, I settled into the selfish feeling of my arms wrapped around his stomach, soaked in his radiating warmth, and enjoyed the ride.

 

 

~Bonus~

Natasha walked in on Steve going at a punching bag. She raised her eyebrows and came to stand next to him, arms folded. “I thought you were going ho–”

“I will.” The bag, sturdy though it was, bounced with the next punch. “Later.”

Natasha watched him for a few more moments. “What got interrupted? Were you actually going to have a chat about feelings with a certain someone?”

Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but when he stopped she looked at him more closely. He hung his head and took some time to catch his breath. Sweat made his hair curl and his face was flush with exertion, but he still held plenty of irritation in his eyes. “It was perfect. I took her on my bike to a park. It was quiet, we were sitting together, she was…open. I had the perfect chance.”

“And you chickened out?”

“I opened my mouth and the fucking phone rang,” he huffed and downed half his water bottle. “She was– and then I had to…and I’m not blaming anybody; it just…”

“Ruined your shot?” she said.

“I’ve been waiting for a moment where she seems open to the idea,” he admitted. “And it was absolutely perfect. And then it wasn’t.”

“Steve,” she said, stern, but not unkind. “How many moments are you going to wait for? How many do you think you’re going to get?”

Steve didn’t answer. Natasha walked behind him and squeezed his shoulder. “Steve, you have control of the waiting period now. When you look back on this, how are you going to feel about it?”

Steve frowned deeper. “I’ve just started,” he said. “I have time, and I’m going to do it. But I’m going to do it right.”

Natasha took her hand back. And swatted him upside the head.

“Ow!” he said and rubbed his head. “What was that for?” he asked and craned his neck back to look at her.

“Being stubborn,” she said and pointed at the open floor area. “Let’s go.”

Steve flinched. “What did I do?”

Natasha pointed at the floor and glared at him.

He stumbled over but asked, “So just, out of curiosity…how fast do you want me to go?”

Natasha sauntered into the square lines marking the starting area. After a moment of looking him over, she said, “Too late,” and launched at him.


	18. Party Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is a popular guy, whether he wants to be or not. Seeking shelter around Christmas seems appropriate for the season, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Whether the viewpoint character celebrates Christmas or not is left vague (there is a gift exchange but it’s mostly centered on what Steve would celebrate), and I played with AO3 formatting a little bit because ~~I love it~~ I wanted to see if it makes the scene jumps more obvious. At the end there is a change in viewpoint and a change back, for which the labels are ensconced between lines. If it's still confusing, let me know; I'm still working out how to do the shifts because I can't seem to stop loving them and I want them to look a little prettier than "~Meanwhile...~" if I can.
> 
> A/N: This chapter was a little delayed because it wasn’t working and when I dug into why I found I had issues with the following sections that were mucking up the place. It felt like working out a real big snarl– frustrating and painful at first, but very satisfying when I got to the end of it. And slightly cathartic when I just ripped out the bit that refused to budge. It was fun. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> (Minor note: time is left vague but this all starts just a few days after the last chapter and happens over a couple of weeks, ending just before Christmas. I have sort of a fake calendar I’ve done up so the dates make sense to me but I don’t think they’re necessary to understand the chapter. If I’m wrong let me know and I’ll see if I can fix it so it does make sense.)

 

I was having a perfectly pleasant evening at home. I had comfy clothing, I had drinks, I had my phone, I had activities…and I had activities involving my phone.

Me: How’s the party?  
Steve: Ugh

Bothering Steve would always, no matter what, be fun.

Me: Serves you right  
Me: trying to guilt-trip me  
Steve: My only regret is I didn’t guilt you more  
Steve: I can’t believe you abandoned me to this  
Me: And I can’t believe you wanted to subject me to that  
Steve: >:(  
Steve: I’m reduced to hiding  
Steve: From a very drunk woman who wants to lean on me  
Steve: Among other things  
Steve: Or so she assures me

I felt a flare of _something_. It wasn’t anything nice.

Me: Hang on  
Me: Omw  
Steve: Is that all it takes?

‘Is that all it takes.’ He was such a fuckhead sometimes; maybe that woman _could_ have him– except, no, actually unacceptable. Any potential partners had to understand ‘no means no’ and when to back the fuck off.

Me: Yup  
Me: There is only so much arm space for clingy bitches  
Me: And I take up a lot of room  
Steve: Hey  
Steve: You are not a bitch  
Steve: >:(  
Me: Don’t you frowny-face me mister  
Me: I am whatever I want to be  
Me: Deal with it

I added the sunglasses emoji just because.

Steve: Well  
Steve: I can’t argue that  
Steve: But I still don’t like it  
Me: You don’t have to  
Me: <3  
Steve: I guess that’s fair  
Me: Seriously though  
Me: Do you want an excuse to leave?  
Me: I’ll figure one out  
Steve: It’s okay  
Steve: I’m going to be up early tomorrow so I’m going to duck out soon  
Steve: It just would have been more fun with you here

I rolled my eyes. But I smiled.

Me: Well  
Me: Don’t stay too late, Cinderella  
Steve: Hm  
Steve: Better than the old man jokes I guess  
Me: I would never  
Me: …Well I guess I might. Too easy though; I like to make an effort  
Steve: I appreciate your work ethic

The conversation drifted off in drips and drabs, but that night I dreamed of Steve and glass slippers and in the morning I woke with the feeling that nothing had fit quite right.

 

* * *

  

Steve: Guess where I am

I got up and peeked out the window. No bike, but that didn’t necessarily mean no Steve. However I looked around my apartment and cringed at the mess.

Me: If you’re dropping in you better be bringing snacks  
Steve: I wish

I frowned at my phone. If he wasn’t coming over then why was he…wait a minute. Wait.

Me: No  
Steve: Yes  
Me: It’s Thursday  
Me: Who has a party on Thursday?!  
Steve: Pepper assures me it’s not technically a party  
Steve: It’s a small get-together  
Me: So it’s a small party  
Steve: Basically  
Me: We’re going shopping this weekend  
Me: We need to find you a spine  
Steve: YOU try telling Pepper no  
Me: Hey I never said I had a spine  
Steve: Be grateful  
Steve: She really tried to get me to invite you  
Steve: I danced around it. I knew you wouldn’t want to with work tomorrow  
Me: Yeah, not happening. Thanks  
Steve: You’re welcome  
Me: Seriously though  
Me: How many parties can those people have in one month?  
Steve: Please don’t ask  
Steve: I don’t want to find out  
Me: I hate to be the one to break it to you  
Me: But it sounds like you’re going to find out  
Me: Whether you like it or not

He sent me a sad frowny-face and I immediately imagined him making the same expression. I looked up at my ceiling and wondered why it had to be _now_ that I had the most active imagination I’d had since I was seven.

Me: Well  
Me: If you need a place to hide out from fancy food and grabby people  
Me: You know where to come  
Me: I don’t really do fancy food  
Steve: What about the grabbing?

_‘Buddy, I **wish** ,’_ I thought and rolled my eyes. He had no idea. And he never would. Hopefully.

Me: I like to think I’m respectful of personal bubbles  
Steve: Except when I steal your food  
Me: Well yeah  
Me: At that point you’re a thief  
Me: And punishment must be meted out  
Steve: Crap  
Steve: Tony saw me, gotta go  
Me: Good luck  
Steve: Gee thanks

I sent him a sweet smiley face, because some things just couldn’t be helped.

 

* * *

 

Karma kicked my ass the very next day when I woke up with such a sudden and severe cold that made me call out of work. I was just barely considering getting out of bed for maybe some soup or a slow crawl directly to the morgue when my phone buzzed.

Steve: I think I hate you  
Me: I didn’t do it  
Steve: Another party  
Me: …  
Me: …  
Me: Dude  
Me: It’s ten am?  
Steve: It’s tonight  
Me: I’m sick  
Me: Come over and I’ll cough on you  
Steve: I can’t get sick  
Steve: I never thought I’d be sad about that  
Steve: Wait  
Steve: You’re sick?

I rolled my eyes. And winced, because that just hurt my fucking head.

Me: Yeah. Staying home today.  
Steve: Do you need anything?  
Steve: Help? Food?

I really wished he could stop being so sweet. It was a real fucking problem sometimes– like now, when I could think of a whole list of things I wanted his help with that was just slightly past the friends barrier. Or maybe friends cuddled and I was just out of the loop? I made a mental note to look into that, when I was slightly less disgusting.

Me: No thanks  
Me: Got medicine, got soup, got bed  
Me: Just need to decide if I can keep anything down  
Steve: Oh :(  
Me: I’ll be okay  
Me: Just need some sleep to kick this in the ass

And warm arms wrapped around me, but I kept that to myself. Maybe I’d have a nice dream later.

Steve: You do that  
Steve: Get plenty of rest  
Steve: And call if you need anything  
Steve: I will be incredibly motivated as of 9pm tonight  
Me: Oof  
Me: I would offer to be your excuse  
Me: But I’m hoping a cocktail of cough syrup and pain meds will make that way past my bedtime  
Steve: Stay safe  
Me: I will. Worrywart  
Steve: Yup <3

He was trying to kill me; I _knew_ it. However I was so exhausted I just sent him a quick ‘bye’ and crawled back under the covers to be miserable and whiny on my own. Admittedly, ‘on my own’ left much to be desired these days, but I got through it like I always did.

Except for the container of soup from a local Chinese place that somehow made it to my door that afternoon. That was new addition to my ‘get better’ routine. But very much welcome.

 

* * *

  

Steve: Sigh

I already knew what was coming. Mostly because I was trapped in a similar hell.

Me: At least it’s close enough to an appropriate date  
Steve: I guess  
Steve: What are you doing?  
Me: Work holiday party  
Me: fml

A couple of women greeted each other nearby in tones that varied up and down but they all stayed pretty equally loud, and I ducked closer to the table, under which I hid my phone.

Steve: I guess it’s true  
Steve: Misery does love company

I sent him a line of middle fingers

Me: How’s YOUR party?  
Steve: Zzzzzzzzz

I ducked down further to hide my laughter.

Me: Seriously though  
Me: How many parties can one guy have?  
Steve: So many, apparently  
Steve: Last year wasn’t this bad  
Steve: He did get mildly offended you haven’t been to a one  
Me: Ugh  
Me: Wait, sorry  
Me: I don’t really mean that  
Me: I just have no idea how to do damage control with that guy  
Me: I don’t know what his deal is  
Steve: It’s okay  
Steve: Neither do I  
Steve: And he’s mostly joking  
Steve: I think  
Me: Good  
Me: I’d rather get along peaceably with your other friends  
Steve: Or be friends with them?

I thought about it.

Me: Gotta be honest  
Me: You have a lot of friends  
Me: That sounds like a lot of work  
Steve: They’re not so bad

I heard my name and glanced up to see my boss was looking around.

Me: Well you have fun with them  
Me: gtg boss is looking for me  
Steve: Don’t get in trouble  
Steve: I’ll see you later?  
Me: Later

My boss caught sight of me just as I was slipping my phone away and I subjected myself to being politely social for the rest of the night. I had…a lot more sympathy for Steve after that.

Not that I would ever let him know it.

 

* * *

  

Steve: Can I come over?  
Me: Of course

Not one second later I heard the buzzer for the entry go off. I let him up without even looking, so when he actually showed up at the door I froze like a deer in the headlights.

“Hey,” Steve said, his face a mixture of stormy and exhausted and his body clad in a finely ( _finely_ ) tailored suit. He gave me a tired smile and held up a grocery bag. “I brought payment in snacks.”

Yes. Yes he did. Wait, no, _snacks_. Plural and actual. Literal. Right. “Sounds, uh, good,” I said and stepped aside to let him in, and I briefly hit my head on the door before I shut it. I turned just in time to see him sit down on my couch like he could sink into it, legs opened up and head thrown back. He shut his eyes and breathed. I took a second to do the same. But he looked so fed up with everything and that ended up being (sadly, selfishly,) good for my focus.

“What happened?” I asked and went to sit next to him as soon as concern won out.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just _tired_.”

I could only imagine. I reached out and squeezed his shoulder– but my instinct to leave my hand there propelled me up and over to the kitchen counter where I started unpacking the bag he brought. The first thing I pulled out was an interesting looking bag of something labeled entirely in Cyrillic. The very next thing I saw, hiding behind it I realized, was a box wrapped in paper and ribbons. I couldn’t even give him the benefit of the doubt– my name was written _right_ there. “ _Steve_.”

“Yes?” he asked, overly innocently and turned his bright blue eyes to me like he was some naïve young farm boy who couldn’t _possibly_ understand why I said his name like that.

He was getting better. My bullshit meter was going off so hard it nearly broke and he _still_ almost got to me. Still, I surreptitiously cleared my throat and said, (quite strongly, I thought,) “That is not going to work on me.”

He didn’t back down. His eyes even seemed to get bigger and bluer. “It’s a good time of year to get gifts for your friends, even if for no real reason. Besides, it’s just something I saw that I thought you would like. It’s no big deal.”

“Uh huh.” I liked the way he stretched his arm across the couch, and the way he stole glances at me like I wouldn’t notice. Starting off strong, getting weaker by the moment; I needed to tell Natasha to up his spy training. “Real subtle.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said and grabbed the remote. While he pretended to give a shit about holiday programming I rifled through the rest of the bag, dumped the caramel popcorn into a bowl, and took the bowl and the gift over to the couch where I plopped down as hard as I could in an effort to be as annoying as possible. He didn’t even flinch, just smiled as I put the popcorn in between us on the couch. The gift I set in the center of my coffee table, where it actually looked really nice.

“Aren't you going to open it?” Steve asked, trying to look like he was watching Jimmy Stewart get his Christmas miracle but, again, his eyes kept darting; this time between me and the gift.

“Mm.” I shrugged but inside I was taking my inner impatient five-year-old and turning her into a moustache-twirling villain, with the gift tied to the train tracks. It felt good. “It’s a Christmas gift, right?”

“Not necessarily,” he said.

“Well, I think most single gifts get opened on the 25th, so I’ll wait,” I said, grabbed a handful of popcorn, and settled in to enjoy a bell ringing like I never had before.

“It’s a– a _December_ gift,” Steve insisted.

“Oh,” I said. “Then I have until December 31st to open it.”

_“It’s A Wonderful Life”_ suddenly became the title of my night, maybe even my autobiography, when Steve said my name in the _whiniest_ fucking tone I had ever heard outside of a bad comedy sketch about nasally nerds. I almost dropped the popcorn I held and, when I turned my head to stare at him, he was almost literally beet red.

“Can we pretend that didn’t come out like that?” he asked, looking down like he could stare right through the floor. I had never before seen someone who _actually_ looked like they desperately wanted to be swallowed whole. “As a present to me?”

“Wow,” I said, because it was all I could say. Already the sweet sound of memory was fading, and I tried to hold onto it. “I got you an actual present so no. But wow. Wow. Happy holidays to me. _Wow_.”

“I’m taking my gift back,” he grumbled and made as if to grab it.

I curled forward to protect it but I moved too fast and accidentally dropped some of my snack, though Steve kept me from cracking my head on the table. “Shit,” I said and hurried to pick up the bits of food. “I _just_ cleaned; if you make me get popcorn bits on my floor I’m making _you_ drag out the vacuum.”

“I don’t think your neighbors would appreciate that right now,” Steve said and wolfed down his own heaping handful of the caramel corn, though he put the bowl on the table.

“My downstairs neighbor has a pre-teen who’s getting into EDM,” I said and pulled the gift into my lap. “Let them suffer as I have suffered.”

“Mm hm,” Steve said, already pretty thoroughly checked out as I turned the box over in my hands.

It wasn’t heavy, but it wasn’t tiny, and it was a fairly standard box so I had no idea what it could be. Maddening. I decided to put us both out of our misery.

“ _Really_?” Steve said as I started picking at the tape on the side. “Are you going to save the paper?”

“Weeeeellllll…” I debated whether or not I should admit my failings, but came out on the side that it would make him smile and I couldn’t find anything wrong with that. Short of an unintentional Three Stooges act there was no way I was topping his whiny self. “I maybe didn’t get a chance to go buy wrapping paper for your gift, sooo…” After a moment I stole a glance, and sure enough, he was smiling.

“You didn’t?” he asked and even let out a little laugh.

“We’re saving the environment,” I said as I started peeling back the paper.

“Sure,” he chuckled. “You, me, and five square feet of wrapping paper.”

“There’s no way there’s that much on here,” I muttered as one corner decided to be a bitch. “How much tape did you use on this thing?”

“I didn’t know we’d be _sharing_ it,” he said, and while he amused himself by harping on the point, I got my wrapping paper off and set it aside.

“–nd you’re not even listening to me, are you?”

“Why would I start now?” The box was plain and, at least for that, I had no compunctions about ripping the tape off. Inside was a lot of paper sitting under a small rectangular box and a shiny black satchel. “Thanks for the great packing materials,” I said as I dug around to make sure I wasn’t missing anything, but it seemed to be just the box and tiny bag.

“Happy to help,” Steve said but he sounded distant. He was staring at the gifts. I took another look at them and my stomach did a flip. The little rectangular box reminded me of–

“Open the box first and then open the bag right after,” Steve said. “It’ll make more sense then.”

When I opened the little box and saw a _bracelet_ I had to _hope_ it was going to make sense. It was…shiny and looked like silver. Chunky but plain. That was a good sign, right? Nice and shiny but plainly platonic. Right? I opened the little satchel and dug out tiny matching metal pieces that were shaped like…oh.

“Wow,” I said and spread the charms on the table around the bracelet still sitting in its pillowed case. “This is…Steve, this is so nice.”

“Oh thank God,” he said and let out a breath that sounded like it was as big as the one still locked in my chest. “I don’t see you wear a lot of jewelry but I saw the charms and it just seemed perfect. The metal’s super hypoallergenic or something– the woman was telling me that it should be fine for anyone with sensitivity to certain metals and I don’t know if you do, but I thought it was better to be safe, and it’s pretty, or I thought so–”

“It’s very pretty,” I said, a smile taking over. What the hell was _he_ so nervous about? Whatever; even his babbling was charming and cute and I tried my best not to think that way because I _should_ have been making fun of him, like a good friend, but I couldn’t rag on him while he was so excited. Or maybe I just couldn’t bring myself to rag on him about _this_.

“Here,” Steve said, reaching over and taking the bracelet out. Big fingers fumbled with the clasp but he put it on my wrist, and then he went for the charms. He held up the coffee cup. “Obviously,” he said and somehow managed not to fumble that time when he attached it. A cloud, “because you can be pretty gloomy and cranky sometimes,” and when I flipped him off with my other hand he just said, “see?” as he put it on. The book was, “again, pretty obvious.”

Then he put the joystick on and squinted at it for a second before he looked up at me, bright eyes framed by dark lashes, and wet pink lips I couldn’t kiss as someone I deeply cared for leaned into my personal space and gave me _jewelry_ for Christmas. I looked down at the bracelet and focused on being grateful for the sweet, generous gesture this was rather than what I wished it could be. The bracelet itself wasn’t too much. It felt comfortable.

“I asked her if they had anything video game related and she said this was a good one,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced. It took me a moment to remember what he was referring to. Joystick. Right.

“Remind me to take you to an arcade,” I said and held my arm up to the light. The charms were fun but plain and melded easily together from a distance; I could wear this anywhere and have it be appropriate. But _I_ would know what it really was. “This is… _so_ thoughtful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said warmly. Softly. All of a sudden those repressed feelings surged forward to make my chest ache and for just a moment I thought of a world where he gave me jewelry and it meant something more. But I lived in a world where he gave me a piece of jewelry and looked quietly pleased with himself while I sat and admired it. It didn’t mean anything; it didn’t mean–

Actually, no, that was wrong. It did mean something. It meant Steve was a really good friend who gave me a wonderfully thoughtful gift. I really needed to stop being in my own fucking head so much or I was going to lose everything I already did have.

But I still needed a moment to come back down from the urge to hug him way too tight. “This is so nice, Steve, thank you,” I said and stood quickly, box and wrapping paper in hand. “I can’t lie, yours aren’t as amazing, so get your acting chops up while I’m wrapping them.”

“You know you can just give them to me,” Steve told me as I walked around the other side of the room to avoid any chance of tripping over him.

“Nope!” I said and shut the door to my room. Safe and alone, I breathed– but not too loud, because he might hear me. I grabbed his gifts and shoved them in the box (stuffed them, really) so I couldn’t think too hard and chicken out of giving him _some_ thing. I messed up at a couple of points with the tape and, rather than ripping the already well-used paper by trying to fix it…I decided to go with it.

One full roll of transparent tape later, I walked back out feeling a little more composed, a little more me. I stood in front of Steve and proudly held out the box.

“It’s very shiny,” he remarked as he took it and looked it over. From the second I sat on the couch I was on the edge of it, eager to see what he would do. Would he try to return the favor by removing _all_ the tape? Would he try scrabbling for an edge? Would he try tearing the paper to ribbons only for the tape to stick all over his hands?

None, apparently– he just pushed his fingers clean through the box right next to the edge and ripped the side right off. “ _Hey_!” I said, because _hey, no fair_ , but he just laughed at me and shook out his gifts onto the couch in between us. I crossed my arms. “You're no fun.”

“No fun at all,” he agreed happily and picked up the beanies. He rubbed one of them between his fingers. “These are very nice.”

“They’re good quality and warm and you look good in beanies,” I said. He put one on haphazardly and I laughed. “Maybe not with tuxes.”

“It does feel nice though; thanks,” he said and sorted through them. “I like the colors too.”

“Yeah, they’re all earthy or whatever,” I said and pointed at the most important gift.

“Unicorn slippers!” he said, seeming actually delighted as he picked them up. He then immediately took off his socks and shoes to put them on. “They fit! They’re _soft_.”

It was no bracelet, but I couldn’t keep a smile off my face. “I maybe hid some measuring tape near the entryway and ran over to your shoes when you went to the bathroom once.”

“Sneaky,” Steve said and set his shiny loafers aside. “I’m going to have to bring them every time I come over.”

“They’re worth it,” I said and wiggled my own unicorn-clad feet.

Steve picked up the last gift. Or ‘gift.’ “That’s not–” I stopped myself and tried to think of what I wanted to say. I just couldn’t figure out how I could say it that I wouldn’t sound stupid. I gave up on the pretense. “So that’s…just a little thing, that can actually stay here if you want, but it is yours. I know you’re not really into games, but I thought if you were over here maybe you could have your own controller.” As he looked it over, I quietly added, “And maybe I can look into…games with two players. If you’d like to play with me sometimes.”

“I would like that,” he said quickly. “To play with you.” He then turned bright red. “In a game– in a _video game_.”

I would have made fun of him, but I was choked by embarrassment too. Damn it, I had done so well with keeping my daydreams chaste (mostly, mostly chaste) and that fucker had to do _that_. I swallowed and tried to think of absolutely anything else while the time ticked on and our mutual embarrassment settled in. Luckily Steve still had the perfect distraction in his hands. “Hey– do you like the design?” I asked, looking from the Captain America shield design to Steve and back and back again.

He rolled his eyes. “Where did you even find it?” he asked and set the package down.

“I don’t know who does your marketing but they deserve a raise because they are putting in _work_ ,” I said and sat back, a little apart from him. I could only get so far on the same couch in a small apartment, but it was enough.

“I’ll be sure to pass that along,” he said.

The conversation died and I didn’t know if I should say anything or not, but I felt…mostly comfortable. Despite the slightly-less-but-still-a-little awkward silence. Outside was cold but we were warm inside with fuzzy slippers and snacks and a slate of classic Christmas movies.

“Hey Steve?” I said, looking at the TV.

“Yeah?” he asked and leaned in.

I _definitely_ didn’t turn my head– I was afraid the temptation would be too great. So, I resisted. But I still had plenty to be grateful for. “I’m glad you ditched your dumb party to hang out with me.”

He chuckled and scooted closer. His presence was a wall of warmth that was _too_ comfortable, so much so that I got a core workout just from sitting so rigidly upright. But then he said, “So am I,” and, well…it was worth it.

 

 

* * *

Later; Avengers Tower

* * *

 

 

“I told you you’d break him,” Maria said, sitting on one arm of the couch.

“Excuse me?” Tony extended his arms, drink sloshing dangerously up the sides of his cup. “I don’t see him here. Where do you think he ran to, hm?”

“We don’t _know_ he went there.” Clint said, a little down the bar from Tony. “He could have run home.”

“No, he’s there,” Natasha said, tapping at her phone. “He’s on her couch, I quote, “eating chips in peace.’”

“Ungrateful,” Tony muttered and continued to do so.

The others ignored him. “So are we going to let Steve handle this on his own terms now?” Bruce asked.

“Bruce,” Natasha said, mock-frowning at him. “It’s like you don’t know us.”

Bruce rolled his eyes, but stretched and groaned. “It’s more like I’m partied out, and this isn’t working.”

“Yet!” Tony said and pointed at Bruce– again, with the hand holding the drink, so his drink sloshed over the side and onto Rhodes, who cursed and grabbed napkins to dry his shirt. “It hasn’t worked _yet_.”

“Tony,” Pepper said, exasperation lacing her tone. “I think it’s time to let this go. He’s going to refuse to come to any more at this point.”

“Except he _has_ to come to the _New Year’s Eve_ party,” he said, looking at her with eyes as serious as he could make them. He only wavered slightly.

“Oh,” Pepper said. “Yes, he has to come to that one.” She looked thoughtful. “Maybe we can make it a bit smaller.”

“‘Just us’ smaller?” Clint asked.

“Not too small,” Natasha said. “She’ll need a place to hide.”

Thor sat on the couch, with Jane sleeping on one of his shoulders and Darcy sleeping on the other, and he looked curiously around the room. “It is interesting that the Captain would be infatuated with a partner so…” He tried to think of a word, and settled on, “Meek.”

Clint and Natasha snorted in unison. “She’s not meek,” Natasha said. “She just keeps to herself and comes around on her own terms.”

Thor brightened and looked to his sleeping girlfriend. “Like my Jane,” he said and faced forward again, keeping his body very still so as not to disturb the sleeping women. “Perhaps Darcy will help in bringing her forward.”

Bruce cleared his throat. “Before we get too ahead of ourselves, how are we sure Steve isn’t going to skip the next party?”

“He won’t,” Natasha said. “As long as everyone shows up– and they _will_ ,” she said, shooting a look at Bruce. He, naturally, withered, and she looked around the room, finally settling on Pepper. “Put her name on the list. I’ll make sure he comes, and I’m certain he will bring his date.”

“The question is: do you think he’ll bring her _as_ a date, or will it _become_ a date?” Maria asked idly.

“Are we betting?” Pepper asked brightly.

As the rest of the group got involved in the debate, Bruce and Phil stared from their positions against the wall. “Poor Steve,” Bruce said. When Phil lifted his glass Bruce clinked his against it, and then they both downed the last of their drinks in unison.

 

 

* * *

The next day

* * *

 

 

Steve: Please  
Me: Steve  
Steve: PLEASE  
Me: …Are you on your knees or something?  
Steve: If I was and I took a picture would you come with me?  
Me: You seriously want me to come along that bad?  
Me: Why can’t you skip out?  
Steve: The NYE party is a big one  
Steve: Or so I have been told  
Steve: Sam is coming  
Steve: And I missed Thor at the last party  
Steve: I will never hear the end of it if I miss him at this one  
Steve: Please?  
Me: We forgot to go on that shopping trip for your spine  
Steve: It won’t do me much good when Natasha removes it  
Steve: She said I HAVE to go  
Steve: But Tony and Pepper always have good food  
Steve: And good alcohol  
Steve: And he pays the bartenders so well you literally aren’t allowed to tip  
Steve: Please?  
Me: …  
Me: I’m going to have to wear a nice dress  
Me: And makeup  
Me: And travel through the city on New Year’s Eve  
Me: To a big social event  
Me: This is going to sound weird because Stark’s parties are some hot thing apparently but  
Me: You are going to owe me so fucking big  
Steve: I already owe you!  
Steve: Thank you!

He went on to thank me in a variety of ways that normally would have made me laugh, but I already really regretted saying yes. Steve, all of his friends, me, and booze– I hit my head against my phone for each miserable fucking point. Oh, and people tended to kiss at midnight. Thinking of all the good alcohol made me feel sour, because I wasn’t going to be able to allow myself much of it. Not if I wanted to succeed in keeping my secret crush secret. And even with that pre-new year resolution, I still had a really bad feeling that I wasn’t going to be under wraps for long.

 


	19. Twelve Strikes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, New Year’s Eve is usually mostly uneventful for most people. Usually. Mostly. For most people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was kind of fun and I hope you enjoy it. I really hope you enjoy it actually because while I know sort of how I want the next chapter to be I have no idea how it’s going to go, so an update might take a little longer. Also, just housekeeping news: I’ve been thinking about it for a while and I decided to make this story a series. Part one is this, the getting together. Part two is tentatively titled “Dinner Date” and it’s pretty much going to be the cute couple shit I’ve been wanting to write. So don't be alarmed; the (19/20) is only for this part, and the story will continue. Anyways, please enjoy!

 

This was a bad, bad, bad idea. Me, alcohol, Steve, Steve’s friends, Steve, Steve in a tux, me, alcohol–

“Are you hiding already?”

I almost leaped out of my skin, but Sam just laughed at me. Jerk. But I hugged him because it was good to see him. And, if I was being honest, it was _literally_ good to see him– Sam was a beautiful man and looked no less in his dark blue suit. However when I hugged him I was fine and normal. Why couldn’t I just appreciate Steve as an objectively beautiful man the way I could appreciate any of his friends as objectively beautiful people?

Although Natasha was so stunning in her long glittery black dress that I had _run_ to the bar so I’d have an excuse not to babble “you pretty lady” at her like the caveman I was. So maybe I was just a mess.

“I’m just– getting a drink,” I said and gestured, only to accidentally hit the glass and scramble to keep it from sliding right off the ridiculously smooth and utterly unblemished “wood” counter. That’s what the whole place felt like actually– bright and shiny with nary an imperfection to grab onto.

“You okay?” Sam asked and leaned against the bar. His body blocked me from a happily chattering couple just as they made it to the space next to us, and I tried to calm the fuck down. Steve invited me, I got in just as easily as anybody, it was fine; I was _fine_.

“I’m okay. Can’t remember the last time I went to an actual party but other than that.” I picked up my drink but it was already almost gone so I put it right back down. Even if I wasn’t trying to monitor my alcohol intake that would have been worrisome. I breathed. I was here and I (and everyone else) was going to have to deal with it.

“Yeah, it’s not really my scene either, but.” He shrugged and smiled. “It’s New Year’s Eve; why not live it up a little?”

Said the man who looked like he belonged here. “I guess,” I said and looked around. I still wasn’t sure if I wanted to see Steve or avoid him.

Sam motioned for a bartender and made a few smooth hand gestures that got me a refill and him a copy of my drink. He took a sip, paused, and then raised _both_ eyebrows at me.

“Don’t you judge me,” I said and sank closer to my cup. “Steve promised good alcohol. And this isn’t even the _top_ shelf.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s all top shelf. But I wasn’t going to say anything.” He pushed away from the bar. “Come on; you found the best thing about Tony’s parties and now I’m going to show you the second best thing about them.”

That did make me perk up. “The food?”

Sam grinned. “The food.”

 

Second best had yet to be claimed, as first place was a tie.

“Do you think they’ll miss it if I just steal the whole tray?” I asked, staring at the waiter walking around with the really good wraps. I didn’t know what the hell was in them but I didn’t care. If I ended up poisoned later I would have no regrets.

“Thor’s done that before,” Darcy said. “It was _awesome_.”

Jane’s expression told me why Darcy used past tense. Too bad, but I could tell why he would have towed the line. Darcy (“Avengers wrangler extraordinaire”) and Jane (astrophysicist and Thor’s partner) were kind, smart, beautiful, and _fun_. That guy kept really good company.

“I think Steve’s done it too,” Sam said. “At least once.”

“Hm.” The tray was getting low, so I looked around the room for another one to pick at. “Do you think if I say I’m eating Steve’s share they’ll just hand it over?”

“What am I sharing?”

I took a moment to, again, chill the fuck out, and then I turned to look at Steve. Somehow it was easier to see him all put-together in a suit now than it had been the night he had shown up all disheveled, but he still looked stupid handsome in straight black and combed hair.

“I’m going to eat all the food on your behalf,” I said and swatted at his stomach. Lightly, because I wasn’t a jerk (and otherwise I would have just hurt my hand). “I’m helping you watch your waistline.”

“I've seen how much Steve eats,” Natasha said, coming around him and somehow making Steve look _boring_ with her dark red matte lips, sparkling chandelier-like earrings, and flawlessly fitting gown. She smiled at me and raised a single perfect eyebrow. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Would you like some?” I asked her. “I’ll share. Just not with Steve; he owes me, like, at least three more grocery bags of snacks.”

“So much for hospitality,” Steve said. He sounded like he was trying to be flat but the smile he couldn’t wrestle off his face fucked that up. But it was a good thing. “If I give you all my food here are we even?”

I thought about it. “The food _is_ pretty good…”

He laughed and opened his arms, and I went in for the hug. When he squeezed me my heart did a happy little somersault and I briefly considered letting him break it. Any more of this and I would have small woodland creatures following me pretty soon. Talk about a dead giveaway. “Easy, easy,” I said and tried to straighten up. “I have delicate alcohol here.”

“Oh, right; I forgot about what’s really important,” Steve said, still smiling widely as we parted.

“I’ve got priorities,” I said and took a sip. “Alcohol, you.”

“I come before food?”

I had to think about it. “Alcohol slash food, you.”

“I come before–”

“Take a fucking compliment Steve,” I said and downed the rest of my drink. A few of his friends laughed and I gave myself a mental pat on the back.

“If only,” a new person said. A beautiful blonde woman who had somehow sidled up right between Steve and Natasha without me noticing. Without Steve noticing too, by the way he jolted. But he looked delighted to see her. “Sharon,” he said and hugged her carefully to keep her full flute of champagne from spilling over her ash grey silky smooth dress. For fuck’s sake; could Steve have _one_ friend who didn’t look like a goddamn model?

When Steve turned to introduce us I realized, oh yeah, that was me. My glass was far too empty but I swallowed back the bitterness on my own. Sharon was very sweet and had no problem turning her attention away from Steve to properly greet me. Unlike the people starting to gather and gawk.

“That’s a lovely bracelet,” Sharon said. “May I see?”

“Sure,” I said, feeling my mood lift at the mention. She and Natasha admired it. As well they should have.

“It’s beautiful,” Natasha said. “Where did you get it?”

“Um…” I looked around at all the strangers, some of whom were trying to sneak in closer to Steve– who looked a little uncomfortable while some woman chatted him up. I decided to play it safe and said, “A friend gave it to me for Christmas.” Hopefully my smile didn’t look as big as it felt.

“A _friend_?” Sharon pressed.

“A very good friend,” I said.

She tilted her head and smiled like we were in on something together. I wished I knew what it was. “Are you _sure_ they’re just a friend? That’s a pretty special m–”

“Hey, do you want me to go get you another drink?” Steve asked me.

I was sort of relieved Steve stomped on the conversation at that point because I was just going to be miserable if we tread that road too far. However I couldn’t believe what he was asking me; he must have been desperate to escape his conversation. “Do you have any idea what I’m drinking?”

“I can guess,” he said, which…he never drank, so how… “Fine; then come with me?”

I looked at Sharon who was seemingly unbothered by the interruption. “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, it was nice to meet you,” I said and Steve, acting the perfect gentleman, gave me his arm to hang onto while we made our way through the crowd. Hanging onto Steve, good alcohol, his friends being nice and not looking at me twice; I actually felt…okay.

“Are you having a good time?” Steve asked, sounding hopeful.

“Did you see that? I had a perfectly normal conversation with another human being,” I said proudly.

“You’re doing very well.”

I jumped as Natasha came up and took his other arm. “Hello again Natasha,” Steve said, sounding annoyed. Apparently he didn’t like her sudden appearing act either.

“You're not the only one wanting the bar, Steve,” she told him. She then looked past him to smile at me. She did ‘reassuring’ shockingly well. Well, she was a spy; she could probably do anything she wanted. “How are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m fine, thanks,” I said. “You look gorgeous, by the way.”

She batted her hand at me, but it was her coquettish smile that made me laugh. “Be careful with complements like that, or I’ll steal you from Steve so I can hear them more often.”

It might have been a joke, but a woman like Natasha was so beautiful maybe people just assumed she knew. “You _should_ hear it more often,” I said sincerely.

Natasha’s smile smoothed out– in a good way, I thought. She gripped Steve’s arm hard enough to make him flinch. “I’m glad you got yourself someone with sense,” she said and slipped away just as we got to the counter.

“It’s a little sad you make me look sensible by comparison,” I said and ordered another drink for me, and something for Steve to try.

“It’s a low bar,” Steve admitted and put his arm around behind me. It was just because the space was crowded, but it felt so nice. When the drinks were delivered I grabbed mine with one hand and slid Steve’s over to him with the other. “Am I carrying your drinks now?” he asked.

I elbowed him and looked around for one of the less-populated areas of the room I had scoped out earlier. “I think you’ll like the taste of it,” I said and grabbed the edge of Steve’s jacket to lead him. “Come on; let’s go catch our breath.”

He didn’t complain then; he just followed along.

“Captain Rogers!”

Or tried to.

A woman (beautiful, of course) with wavy blond hair came right up to him– and I got my first red flag when Steve tensed up. I got my second red flag in flashing lights when she practically _shoved_ in between us. Had I stayed where I was it would have been literal, but I managed to save my dress and drink from combining. And, when she failed to apologize (or even acknowledge my existence) I considered turning my glass up over her head. Instead I took a sip to quell the growing rage and glared daggers at her perfectly-made-up head.

“Hello,” Steve said and looked at me. I lifted my cup and mimed dumping it on her. It got a smile, at least.

“It’s _so good_ to see you again; I missed you at the last party,” she said and gave me an aneurysm when she wrapped her arms around _his_ arm. Steve tugged but man, she had him worse than a boa constrictor. It was almost admirable, if I didn’t want so badly to take some hairspray and a lighter to get her _off_.

I took another drink. _‘Down girl; he isn’t yours,’_ I told myself. It didn’t do much.

“I wasn’t at the last party,” Steve said, looking at me and drawing her attention.

I got my polite face on just before she turned her head my way. She sized me up and I stared at her. Yeah, pretty, sure. But Sharon was prettier. And nicer. “Hello,” Handsy said, perfectly icy. “Do you need something?”

 _‘Yeah– for you to fuck off,’_ I thought. “Oh, I’m just waiting for Steve,” I said and smiled. It felt bland and fake and I didn’t care if it looked it.

“Well, we’re going to be a while,” she said even though Steve’s face clearly said that no, no they weren't.

“That’s fine; I’ll wait!” I said, a little more chipper than I wanted but, fuck it, she was pissing me off. She glared at me, so at least the feeling was mutual.

“STEVEN!”

We both jumped and Steve took the chance to extract himself from Handsy’s grip. “Thor!” he said and the two of them gave (and therefore received) hugs that looked like they would crack lesser spines. Wow Thor was even bigger than I thought he would be. Objectively he wasn’t _that_ much bigger than Steve, but it felt like he filled the room. It was a little intimidating. But Handsy smiled patiently, and she was the reason I stayed close by– I didn’t want to risk leaving Steve alone with her.

“I want you to meet someone, actually,” Steve said and that was all the warning I got before Steve reached around Handsy to grab me and pull me in front of him so he could introduce me to Thor, Thor to me.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Thor said and shook my hand with very measured strength. It was easy to forget that Steve was strong, but I had a feeling you _couldn’t_ forget it with this guy. “I’ve heard many good things.”

That sounded a little rehearsed, so maybe he was nervous and awkward too? I ran with it. “Likewise,” I said, because it was polite, and also true. Steve really respected and liked Thor and I wanted to make a good impression. I just didn’t know what to say. “I, uh, met Jane and Darcy earlier.”

He brightened at the mere mention. “Are they not wonderful?”

“They’re great,” I said and (only partly joking) added, “You’re a lucky guy; you must have done something pretty good to deserve them.”

Thor froze.

I froze too and started a chorus of _‘shit shit shit shit shit’_ in my head. However I didn’t get a chance to even _plan_ my apology before he let out a loud laugh that made me jump. “Oh, I am sorry!” he said and put his other hand on my arm. “It is true, but I did not expect to hear it from you.”

Weird, but I had the good sense not to say so. I was still coming down from the almost fuck-up so I missed what Steve said, but when Thor enthusiastically responded with a flurry of words that were unrecognizable despite being in a mostly-English sentence, I stepped back to let them geek out. Some people were coming and I really did need a breather, so I waited for Steve to look at me. When he did I held up one index finger, he nodded, and then he put his arm around Thor to lead him in one direction while I went the other.

The gaggle followed them. Or maybe people simply went in that general direction, I couldn’t tell and didn’t really care. I got to a little offset spot where the walls met awkwardly and took a few minutes for myself. I spent most of that time staring at a dark-haired woman who went between Steve and Natasha and I wondered if I had met her yet. She looked familiar but maybe she wasn’t? This was frustrating.

Handsy showed up again just as I was thinking about going back to the bar for some water. “So,” she said, still smiling politely but without even _trying_ to introduce herself. ‘Handsy’ it was then. “How did you meet Captain Rogers?”

Trying to reconcile Steve with the image conjured by “Captain Rogers” caused a cognitive dissonance so strong I nearly had to physically shake it out of my head. “Oh, um…we met at a coffee shop we both happened to be at. Became friends.”

She waited for a few seconds, but since it wasn’t really her business I didn’t go on. “How cute,” she said blithely and smoothed out her dress. Admittedly she did cut a lovely figure in it. “The captain and I met at one of Stark’s parties a while back. We really hit it off.”

“That’s nice.” Thankfully I caught sight of Pepper heading my way so I straightened up at the prospect of a distraction.

Handsy turned to face her too and while I couldn’t see the look on her face, the high-pitched (super fucking fake) excited squeal of Pepper’s name from her mouth and look of absolutely _strained_ politeness on Pepper’s face made me want to merge with the wall to avoid what was almost certainly going to involve bloodshed. But they hugged and, though stiff, they miraculously came out of it with all eyes and limbs intact.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but if you don’t mind,” Pepper said and gestured at me.

“Oh, of course; it was _lovely_ to see you,” Handsy said.

And then _left_.

I gawked and when Pepper said my name in a tone of “what’s wrong” I _wanted_ to ask her what the hell that was– in a polite, reasonable way befitting an adult who got invited to a Very Fancy Party– but what came out of my mouth was, “I thought you two were going to _fight_.”

I glared at my drink in betrayal, but I was so unaffected that it wasn’t even funny so the glass was just a convenient scapegoat. Pepper laughed at least– and smiled to show teeth. “It wouldn’t have been much of a fight.”

I laughed. And then, because I was a (mostly) functioning adult: “Thank you for letting me tag along on Steve’s invite; I appreciate it.”

“‘Letting you’ nothing; I’m glad Steve finally got you to come to one of these,” Pepper said. “How are you doing?”

“I’m all right; taking a breather,” I said. The dark-haired lady was talking to Jane now. “I’m trying to remember names now before I wade back in.”

Pepper nodded. “That’s Maria Hill.”

“Oh thank god, I don’t think I’ve met her yet.” I then realized Pepper was hosting (mostly, I thought; Stark was being loud elsewhere so maybe it was a two-pronged approach) and I looked her over. She looked perfect, but still. “How are you? It must be tiring.”

“Oh, a little.” She waved a hand carelessly. “It gets easier.”

“That’s good,” I said. And had nothing else. I looked around but the bar was busy– Plan B then. “I should go find Steve so he doesn’t think I ditched him.”

“I think I saw him at that end of the bar,” Pepper said and gestured to one of the crowds, because of course. As she motioned though, she saw someone she knew and waved.

“Thanks Pepper. I’ll track him down,” I said as the other person brought his partner over to say hi. Well, that was one hiding place completely ruined. Hopefully the others were all right.

“If you have any problems, just come find me,” she said and went to greet her friend with actual joy and excitement. That was a nice offer that I absolutely wasn’t going to take her up on. I could handle a crowd of people and bitchy partygoers. Weddings were _way_ worse than this scene. So I shored up and went to the place where Steve apparently was. Which he was– in the middle of a crowd of people who had gathered around to listen to Thor tell a story.

I didn’t even try to nudge my way in. I made a trip to the bathroom, snagged a new drink from a small open spot at the bar, and went over to the food table. Natasha and Phil Coulson were talking to their friend (Maria). They looked up when I got closer and I nodded, trying to be unobtrusive as I grabbed a little crostini-thing with some stuff on top of it, but they turned to face me and I stopped before I even got the thing to my mouth. “Uh…” I said, looking at all of them. I lowered the hors d’oeuvre. “Sorry; I didn’t mean to…intrude?”

“You didn’t,” Phil said and extended his hand. I had a drink in one hand and food in the other, and nowhere to put the food. So I shoved it in my mouth, switched the glass to my food-tainted fingers, and shook his hand while I chewed like I was trying to take a prize at an eating contest. Not easy with how crunchy it was but it was good, at least.

“It’s good to see you again,” he said like I hadn’t just done a disaster dance right in front of him. Nice man.

I swallowed. “And in a better situation,” I said, trying to pretend at dignity.

Natasha said my name and then introduced me and Maria Hill to each other. She added, to me, like she was telling me a funny secret, “Don’t worry; she doesn’t bite.” Natasha even _winked_. Wow; who knew a woman that gorgeous could also be such a fucking dork? I was a little in love.

“Oh Natasha, don’t lie to her like that,” Maria said and very obviously scoped me out. Honestly, I might not have minded the biting. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

‘Finally?’ What the hell was Steve saying about me? “Uh–”

“Ooo, is this a new spy induction ceremony?”

Tony Stark sauntered up and I tried not to laugh at him outright but the idea was so ridiculous I couldn’t help but snicker. Stark raised an eyebrow at me and I shrugged. “I’m clumsy, would rather walk under a ladder than walk past a gym, and avoid people if I can help it. I would be the worst spy _ever_.” I swirled my glass. “All that said, thanks for letting me tag along with Steve. I like your booze.”

“At least you have taste,” Stark said. “Are you the reason I saw Rogers walking around with a half-full glass himself?”

“Still half-full huh?” I asked and looked around, but there was no Steve in sight. With the one second loss of attention Tony Stark moved on to talking to the other three. Since I was hemmed in in a way that would attract attention should I leave (and I was right by the best snacks that _just_ got replaced) I stayed and socialized. Or ‘socialized.’ Stark was a talker– not as fast as I had expected but fast enough that whenever he looked at me for a response I only had time to make a facial expression before he was on about something else. He was kind of funny, but also kind of an asshole– like, he was okay, but I still felt cautious and I could see how he and Steve might be at cross-purpose more often than not.

I felt pretty pleasant though. Nobody was glomming onto the Avengers just for being Avengers anymore (even Handsy was off laughing with a group of friends), people were talking around me without making me participate, the lights were bright in a sort of haloed way, I had good food and drink in hand, and the room was comfortably warm. I just needed one more thing and it would have been perfect. Or maybe I was better off without him.

…No. I still wanted Steve around, even if I was being the world’s biggest idiot about having a dumb crush. Even if this only ended in heartbreak and I had to watch him hook up with other people for the rest of my days, his company was worth that much.

I was only half-listening to Tony when he made some dumb joke and I had sussed out his personality enough to comfortably and casually tell him, “Go fuck yourself.”

His mouth dropped open and he gasped. “Cap!” he said and pointed at me like he was a lawyer in a courtroom drama and I was this week’s case. “Your plus one just told me to go fuck myself!”

Warm chuckles drifted on high from behind me and I felt even more comfortable when Steve came around to stand at my side, just slightly behind my arm. “Is that all? She tells me that almost every day.”

I was taking a drink so I flipped Steve off without looking.

“See?” Steve said. “Sometimes even nonverbally.”

“Well,” Tony said, pouting. “Now I don’t feel special.”

I gave him an awkward consolation pat on the shoulder.

Pepper arrived then so Tony turned his mania onto her. I turned my head to look up at Steve. His shoulders were loose and his expression leaned closer to a smile than not. “Hi,” I said, trying not to smile too big.

“Hey,” he said. “Having fun?”

“Mm hm,” I replied. His smile was soft and sweet and the light formed a glow around him.

Someone coughed next to us. Steve jolted and I turned my eyes as far away from him as I could. “I’m sorry,” Steve said to someone else and lightly tugged at the shoulder of my dress as he said my name. “I want you to meet someone.”

I looked back but didn’t let myself get to Steve. I settled my eyes firmly on the (of course, handsome,) wavy-haired brunet next to him. Steve then introduced me to his friend, Bruce Banner.

“Sorry for the terrible first impression,” I said as we shook hands.

“I’m sure Steve deserved it,” Bruce said kindly. “And I know Tony did.”

“ _Hey_ ,” the two of them said in near-unison.

“You are right,” I said. “On both counts.”

“What is this rudeness at _my_ party?” Tony grumbled. “I could kick you both out.”

“You promise?” Bruce said, which was much funnier than my response of grabbing a few hors d’oeuvres and hastily wrapping them in a napkin.

Steve tugged at my sleeve again as the conversation turned to Who Can Roast Tony The Best. I leaned in closer to Steve and he came down to my ear to ask, “Do you still have that corner open?” in a low voice that made me shudder.

 _‘Boy do I,’_ I thought but kept that to myself. I grabbed his sleeve and pulled as I slipped out of the group, and he followed easily.

The party picked up in noise and excitement but Steve and I stayed in my second-favorite corner for a while, sharing my napkin-wrapped snacks and drinking the water he had momentarily stolen away to grab (and which he refused to replace with alcohol until I had drunk the whole thing).

It was getting a little chilly since we were right by a patio door but I was content and tried to show as much. Steve left momentarily to go say hi to someone and I rubbed my arms, trying to warm and wake myself at the same time. While it wasn’t necessarily past my bedtime it was just…tiring. I was a little relieved that Steve had stepped away, because it gave me a few moments to rest my eyes.

“Hey.”

“Back already?” I asked and opened my eyes as I smiled at him.

“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked and hesitated, like he would actually leave if I said so. Dork.

“Of course not,” I said. “I just…I know you have friends here; you don’t have to keep me company if you don’t want to.”

“What if I want to?” Steve said and glanced around, coming back to me with a shy smile that was begging for a kiss.

I swallowed the urge and smiled at him. “Well. I’m certainly not going to chase you off.”

His eyes brightened and he retook his place next to me. We went back to staying in affable silence and it was good to have a reminder of _why_ I didn’t really want to kiss him. This was the most comfortable I had been with a human being in a very long time and I couldn’t stand the thought of losing him. Not for awkwardness, not for regret, not for anything.

Apparently I was worse at concealing the chill than I thought. “Here,” Steve said and didn’t wait a second before he draped his jacket over my shoulders. “Is that better?”

I was caped with a warm, surprisingly soft jacket that smelled like Steve. ‘Better’ was a wildly inaccurate term; I was lucky I wasn’t fucking catatonic. God, I had problems. “You don’t need it?”

“Nah,” he said. And _put his arm around me_. “Is this okay?”

“Warm,” was the only word I could form.

“Good,” he chuckled and did not pull away from me, even when the door didn’t open for a while. I was so comfortable. Too comfortable. But I ignored the warning bells and leaned my head against his shoulder, letting my eyes droop a little in comfort.

And then I noticed his friends were _staring_ at us and my eyes opened right back up. Fuck, shit, _fuck_ , did they know? He had at least two spies for friends, they had to know, I was lucky _Steve_ hadn’t yet noticed; how did I get so fucking sloppy? I sat up straight.

“Are you all right?” Steve asked.

“Uh, I think your friends might need you,” I said and nodded in their direction. While he looked over them I swirled the remainder of my water and then tossed it back. “I need a drink.” Understatement.

“All right then,” Steve said and stood with me. “It’s my turn to show you _my_ favorite corner.” And so it was my turn to follow and I did, but when he slipped his arm around me, as we pressed together to squeeze through people, I leaned into it and stole yet another little, selfish moment for myself.

As soon as I got my replacement drink he then led me all the way down the bar, then around and over to a lesser-used part of the wrap-around counter that was away from most of the fun _and_ in an awkward corner that was even out of the light and shaded.

“ _Nice_ ,” I said. “It’s a little small though. Are we going to rock-paper-scissors or just shove each other out of the way for it?” If I angled just right I could make him shove me into it. Granted, I would probably be made one with the wall, but sacrifices must be made sometimes.

“I have an idea,” Steve said. And he sat down. But just as I was about to commend him on his deviousness he

1) put his hands on my waist

2) pulled

and I

3) turned to grab onto something

4) failed

and 5) fell.

 _Into his lap_.

I sat, frozen for a moment. But I didn’t say anything. Steve didn’t say anything. And I didn’t get up. I just kept… _sitting_ on him. Eventually I found my voice. “Did I crush you?” I asked, feeling a little hoarse, and probably drowned out by the sounds of cheering.

“No,” Steve said, hard to hear through the excitement of the countdown as it started. I turned my upper body to look at him, but whatever joke I was going to make about ‘comfortable seats’ died before it formed.

Steve, half-cast in shadows and whatever scattered lightshow was going on behind us, stared at me, something inscrutable. A spot of red light splashed over his lips for a moment and I couldn’t tear my eyes away. They were slightly opened, dry from the air, and I felt so _warm_ , so…what could it hurt? Just one little moment; would he mind so much just one little ta–

His arms tightened around me and he moved, bringing those lips to meet mine as the room erupted in cacophony. After just a second I slid my drink onto the counter, wrapped my arms around him, and returned the kiss with everything I had.


	20. After Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two intrepid idiots clear up a misunderstanding and get to the good bits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter went places I did not expect, but the important part is that these dumb dorks are still pretty cute <3 So the next part of this story will be called “Dinner Date” and posting will happen…when it happens. Sorry. I’m in the mood to do some holiday-themed one-shots right now for some different characters, but time will tell whether any of those get finished before the first chapter (which I have already started). Anyways. For now…please enjoy.

 

The ride home was…awkward.

Steve and I both sat in the back of a nicer-than-average town car and the cab was quiet enough, and the drive slow enough, that sounds of scattered celebration occasionally filtered in, easy to hear in the utter silence with my head so close to my window while Steve was very much pressed against his own. I didn’t know how to feel about it. While I didn’t exactly want to crawl into his lap while some poor schmuck drove us to my apartment…Steve looked out the window more often than he looked at me.

I put my hand on the seat and inched it towards him, keeping it close enough to me that if I needed to get into some quick denial I could, but Steve was sharp when he wanted to be and I was still wondering if that kiss was just convenience or maybe ( _maybe_ ) something more. But the driver asked something, Steve snapped his attention to answer, and I shoved my fingers under my leg like I was protecting them from the cold. In a car that could probably control the climate down to the fifth decimal. And Steve went back to staring out the window.

He looked so focused. Was he prepping an apology– a gentle let-down? An “I’m sorry it’s not you it’s me?” An “I’m sorry but I was just excited and that went way too far?” An “I’m sorry but I thought I was into it before we kissed and now I’m very much not?” Was I a crap kisser? I cupped my hand around my mouth and nose and breathed, but I couldn’t get a good read on it. Still, after all that food and drinking I probably tasted terri–

Steve said my name and my neck cracked with how fast I looked at him. I then tried to crack the other side to make it seem like it was just terrible timing. Very smooth.

“You uh…” I fiddled with my hands and made no move to get out of the car. Steve didn’t move either, but I still didn’t know if that was good or not. I knew what I had to say, but spitting the words out was harder than it should have been. Eventually, though, I got there.

“Would you come up?”

“Can we talk?”

The sentences came at the same exact time and it took me a moment to realize what Steve had said. And that his words seemed… _so_ much more not-fun than mine. But, to avoid any more stilted conversation in the company of a complete stranger, I nodded as fast as I could and said, “Yes,” far too desperately. Granted, the guy was a driver employed by Tony Stark and had probably seen worse, but I didn’t need all my nonsense spilling out over the same seat where someone else had probably…

My eyes trailed too long over Steve’s thighs and I scrambled to get out of the car. I stretched as soon as I was out in the cold air. Noise filtered down the street in spurts as parties continued on, and I hugged myself. My one nice jacket was not meant for me to be out in long, not in the middle of the night in January at least.

“Here.”

I saw my purse before I saw Steve holding it. I smacked my hand to my face. “Fucking idi– jeeze; thanks Steve,” I said and took it.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said and gripped my shoulder. His hand felt like a weight at first but then he squeezed and…lingered. For several seconds. And it felt like he was reluctant to let go, even though he literally only stepped a foot away to lean in the car window and tell the driver something. Was I projecting or was this going to go better than I feared? I still couldn’t risk looking him right in the eyes so I stole a peek while he was distracted. He looked…normal. I couldn’t tell anything but, well, he was talking to another person and I could only see half of his face, in the dark, so what did I expect?

When he started to stand again I faced the building and waited while the car drove off. I was starting to feel sick in a way I couldn’t blame on the alcohol, but at least the potential humiliation was relatively low as far as witnesses went. It was just me. And Steve.

“Come on,” he said and nudged me gently. “Let’s get you inside before you freeze.”

“Okay,” I said and led the way. Again, we were both completely silent. Of course, it was a two-way road, but I didn’t know what to say. “Hey, how about that kiss? Pretty great, right?” Except I didn’t know if he would agree. _I_ liked the kiss, but we hadn’t talked or really done anything after it. What if it really was him just getting caught up in the moment? And I had followed along. Because I had desperately wanted it. And maybe he could tell and _that_ was why it was awkward.

“Do you want some coffee?” I asked as soon as we got in, and after I hit the lights I went to the kitchen to make a pot whether or not he wanted to share.

“That sounds nice, thanks,” he said and headed over to the couch.

I stayed at the coffee pot and listened to it gurgle and bubble, taking in some comfort from the smell that arose as it started to drip into the pot. I wondered if I could get away with taking a moment to change into my pajamas or something more comfortable for the coming conversation, but that didn’t seem quite fair. If Steve had to be stuck in his formalwear, I could sit and suffer in mine too. Depending on how this conversation went, I would be spending a _lot_ of time in my pajamas, eating too much and eschewing all human contact forever and always. I didn’t get to be dramatic very often, but I had burned myself enough times that it could still be considered a time-honored tradition.

“I’m sorry.”

I dropped the cup to the counter. It didn’t have far to go but that didn’t matter because– “Sorry for what?” I asked, hoping I was misunderstanding something.

“I’m sorry for kissing you like that.”

Oh. I squeezed my eyes shut tight. So he did mean…okay. Okay. Ouch, but okay. I got it. He said my name but I didn’t trust myself to respond; tears balled up in my throat and choked the little _‘but I’m not’_ that was pointless to say.

He said my name again, right behind me this time. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

I let out a laugh that was more like a whimper but I still tried as hard as I could to hold it together. “Okay. I– I get it; you were just…excited, I guess?” God that sounded so fucking stupid I was so fucking stupid. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I went with it, I’m sorry _I_ wanted– maybe we could forget–”

“Oh– no! No; not– no, no, no,” he said and turned me around. I tried to hide my face but I couldn’t steal away completely from his concern. He gripped my arms. “That’s not what I meant; I’m not sorry I kissed you– I mean–” He let out a sigh like he was exasperated. “I’m saying this wrong. I _don’t_ regret kissing you. What I’m sorry for is _how_ it happened.”

I blinked back tears. I took a minute to think over what he said. I stared at him.

Then I shoved back from him. “You are such a _dick_ sometimes!”

He looked bewildered. “What…”

“You scared the crap out of me!” I said. “You kissed me like _that_ and then you barely touched me, even when you offered to ‘take me home,’ and you were silent for the whole ride. I thought you regretted it!”

“No. However,” he said and narrowed his eyes so slightly it was almost more of a squint. “You did the same thing. You barely touched me, didn’t say a word– I thought you were mad at me. I kissed you and I _thought_ you kissed back, but afterwards you– and I thought you were mad that I sprung it on you. That I surprised you too badly and you didn’t know if you really wanted it.”

I took a second. Several seconds, actually, until I calmed down. “Fair,” I conceded. I had thought I was reacting to him but… “So I’m a dick too.”

“What a pair we are,” he said. He licked his lips and I had to avert my eyes. Unfortunately I averted them up into making eye contact. Shit. “So…you _did_ kiss back.”

“Must not have done it too well if you sound so unsure about it,” I said, maybe a bit sourly, because _I_ thought I had done pretty well. I hadn’t ever had a first kiss with someone turn into such a nice (if too quick) make-out. He said my name in warning and I sighed. “Yeah, I did.”

“So you…” He stopped, frowned, and was silent.

When he crinkled his nose I had to ask, “What?”

“There’s no way I can think to put this that doesn’t make me feel like I’m ten years old,” he said and rubbed the back of his head. “So you… _like_ me too?”

I snorted. It was kind of funny. “You could even say I like _like_ you too.”

He rolled his eyes and said my name again. I definitely like that. It felt like being back on steady ground after being knocked around in an earthquake. “I said what I meant and meant what I said,” I told him. “Now you.”

“I’d like to sit behind the playground with you too,” he said dryly.

I covered my mouth in mocking scandal. “Hold up there Steve, we just kissed once; how far do you expect to get in one night?”

He turned red. “What the hell are people doing on– oh.”

I, of course, laughed. But then he smiled and I felt off-kilter again. I swallowed another lump as it began to form. “So you…meant it?”

“Obviously,” he said like he was joking. He sounded so suddenly unsure though when he asked, “Right?” that I almost wanted to hug him.

“It just– it came out of nowhere and–” I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself in this whirlwind. “But I was so focused on myself; I was trying so hard not to show what…that _I_ wanted. You. Like that.” I froze up, but I had said it; I’d _said it_. Out loud. To him.

I turned around, dumped some coffee in a cup, and immediately downed half of it. I’d been well sober for a while but maybe this would stave off the headache I could feel creeping in. After a moment I took out another cup, poured more coffee, and slid it over to him.

“Thanks,” he said and put his hand around the bug but didn’t bring it up to his mouth. “Was I out of line? It’s okay to tell me; I don’t want– …Whatever it is that you might want, I don’t want to lose you as a friend, so please. Talk to me.”

I looked up at the ceiling and then I looked at him. “I want you,” I said. “Exactly like you think. Or maybe you don’t think. But I want you, as more than a friend. I have wanted you but I couldn’t imagine you wanting me as anything else and whatever happened I could handle not having you as a–” I couldn’t even say ‘boyfriend’ I was that pathetic, “– _romantically_ , but I didn’t want to lose you completely. I never– I never thought I would get to this point; I thought at worst I would have to say ‘hey I have a crush on you’ and at best you would let me down– gently, I hoped– and we would move on and I…I just, I never thought I would get to this point and I don’t know what to do! You want the same thing and now I’m so terrified of having the chance to fuck this up.”

“You won’t. _We_ won’t,” Steve said and stepped forward, almost pressing up against me. “We’re two adults who can work through this. Together.”

That was more optimism than I was allowed in one night. “Have you met us?” I had to ask.

“Yeah,” he said, looking stupidly earnest. “I know we can because we wouldn’t be working on it on our own, and we already work through a lot together. My issues with being Captain America, your issues with people; my problems with being myself in a completely different time, your issues with opening up…your problems with admitting you’re wrong about really good, unusual snacks…”

“Oh my god, if this is about the crickets again then you are still _so_ wrong.”

“They have _chocolate_ on them; they can’t be bad.”

“I could probably coat a dirty penny in chocolate and you’d eat it,” I muttered. I couldn’t believe I had actually _kissed_ that man. Yuck. (Except unfortunately not.)

Steve shrugged (because I was _right_ and we both knew it) but he smiled at me. “You get the point though. Wasn’t it a risk just being friends in the first place?”

It wasn’t like romance had a monopoly on breaking hearts, true. However. “This is more, and bigger, for _both_ of us,” I said. His smile went away. “I’m not– I know we both have issues. That’s a separate thing. I just…” I looked down at my hand on the counter. “Right now I wonder.”

“Wonder what?” Steve asked softly and put his arms around me.

“How could you want me, Steve?” But I returned the hug, pressed myself against him, and squeezed. “Sometimes I don’t even want me.”

“I could say the same thing,” Steve said and held me just as tight. Despite my misgivings, I never wanted to leave this. “For what it’s worth…I think we make a good team.”

I let out a little laugh. Just a little one, but damn him, I was starting to come up from my spiral. “I guess the couple who snarks about self-important businessmen together stays together,” I said. But I liked that. _Couple_. It made me feel warm. Or maybe that was Steve, ever-present and holding onto me like he truly didn’t want to let go. “If we’re going to be doing this, I’m going to _really_ nag at you about jumping off buildings without parachutes.”

“It was a plane and it was one time.” He rubbed his hand across my back. “And you already yell at me for it.”

“Mm hm.” I was content to stay as I was, but when I dropped my head to rest it against him I found a whole other reason to be uneasy. Dirty countertops, dishes piled in the sink, and I knew the living room and my bedroom was a mass of clothes and jewelry and hastily-bought makeup. My place was an actual garbage pile and I had _completely_ forgotten. No wonder he had ditched the couch right away– he couldn’t sit on it. I groaned and shoved my face into his chest.

“What’s wrong?”

“Well now that I’m mostly done freaking out about _that_ , I’m about to start freaking out about my apartment looking like a disaster zone.”

Steve chuckled. “I hadn’t really noticed. I can close my eyes if it makes you feel better?”

I opened my mouth and then shut it while I considered that. I smiled. “Yeah, actually,” I said. “Shut your eyes.”

He blinked, but then he obeyed. I savored the moment because that was not a thing Steve Rogers did often, but I didn’t wait long. I moved in and up, and pressed my lips to his. And that was where I did linger. “Mm,” Steve ‘said’ and put his hand behind my head to keep me there. The joke was on him– I never wanted to leave. Slowly his mouth opened and so did mine, and as he slipped his tongue in, I pressed my body even closer to his, even though any more contact outside of metaphysical merging was impossible at that point. His hands moved, gripping at my back in different spots, but I felt a thrill when they moved to my sides.

I couldn’t believe I got to do this with _Steve_. I went from hopelessly infatuated to actually having him in the space of one night and it was _real_ ; the way his arm curved around my waist was real, the way his lips and tongue teased at mine was real, the…counter I sat on and that he pressed against to get to me was real, but I couldn’t remember how I got up there.

I let that go, and kissed him until I really had to pull back for air. I had a headache crashing in but I couldn’t remember ever feeling so good. Until Steve’s phone buzzed right next to me, making me jump from the slight vibrations carried through the counter. He spared a glance at it but it fell silent, so he came back to me. The phone buzzed again but he ignored it. Except that it kept… buzzing. And it was incredibly irritating– to the point where I was tempted to throw it into the living room– but that didn’t seem like a good idea considering the reasons Steve might be called.

I broke for air. Since I needed a little time to catch my breath I asked him, “Should you check that?” even while I fervently hoped the answer was “fuck no.”

He huffed but he reached over to grab for the phone without leaving me (good, since I had my legs loosely locked behind him) and I caught his muttered “I swear to God if the world is ending _today_ I’m…” but the rest was unintelligible. That was fine. I had plenty of my own threats to substitute and they were probably better than his.

But Steve stared at the phone and turned red. Not angry red. Definitely not angry red. Red like ‘Lucy got caught behind the social studies room by the proctor’ red. And for a moment I was so delighted by the proposition I forgot I was maybe part of the reason he was so embarrassed. Even remembering that didn’t make his face any less enjoyable though. “What is it?”

He lifted his eyes to the ceiling like the long-suffering man he was and shut them in silent prayer. I snuck a peak at his phone while he did so and only saw the end of a very busy group message.

Sam: Yeah Steve, take the lady to dinner first

I burst out laughing and Steve chucked his phone behind him into the living room. It didn’t _sound_ like it smashed into a thousand pieces, so hopefully it crash-landed into one of the piles of clothes. “My friends are assholes,” Steve muttered and moved back to me, setting his hands on my hips.

“You know, Sam has a point,” I said as Steve’s nose slid alongside mine.

“Oh yeah?” I could feel his smile against my lips just before he began to kiss and nip at them gently. “You want me to take you to dinner, sweetheart?”

It wasn’t quite serious, wasn’t quite a joke, and it made something in my chest swell wide and bright. “Not yet,” I said and pressed my forehead to his, unable to kiss him through the uncontrollable smile on my face. I was willing to try, though. I was willing to try lots of things. “But I’ll let you treat me to lunch.”


End file.
